Line in the Sand
by Scarlett7
Summary: Hurt/scaredSam and Worried/protectiveDean! Suspicious deaths bring Sam and Dean to Black Hills, South Dakota where they discover an old Navajo curse has suddenly awakened. Nothing they can't handle until something goes wrong with a certain little brother. Set in Season 8, after Sam starts the Trials.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm serious, Dean," Jody said, almost whining on the other end of the phone. " _I do not want to go_. I've got a week off and I just want to sit here in my own house by my own fireplace with my own stuff. If you guys are taking this case, you should take the cabin too. It's right there."

"Right," Dean snorted, balancing the phone on his shoulder as he tossed a folded t-shirt into his duffel. "You don't want to go stay in a fully furnished, fully stocked cabin in the woods with a fireplace and a hot tub. For free."

" _No,_ " Jodi insisted for at least the third time. And it was, for the most part, true.

"And how do you know this woman again? What was her name, Dottie? _Dottie_? Really?"

"Dean, are you even listening to me?" Jody was starting to wonder if he was just stalling so he could come up with a good excuse not to take her up on her offer.

Dottie Wilson meant well. She really did, Jody knew that. But over the past few days Jody had been wishing that someone else in the sheriff's department, _anyone else_ , had taken on her case. The domestic violence situation Jody had rescued Mrs. Wilson from had left her eternally grateful and had left Mr. Wilson rotting away in prison. That is, until the heart attack he'd had two weeks after his incarceration. Dottie Wilson was now the sole owner of a mansion in Sioux Falls, and on the "other side of town", The John Wilson Inn (where Dottie had reported three mysterious deaths), The Den, and several hundred acres of forest in The Black Hills. This was all in addition to a few other properties across the country. The John Wilson Inn was a large, historic tudor style resort and The Den was a cabin a few miles away. The Den was small, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in furnishings and amenities. It was a one bedroom cabin that could sleep 4 located in the wilderness of Black Hills, South Dakota. Rustic, Dottie had called it, but Jody had seen pictures. Dottie's version of rustic was wide planked hardwood floors instead of carpet or marble, 9 foot ceilings instead of 12, and a fireplace that burned real wood. The cabin was furnished with the most high end "rustic" furniture available.

Dottie had been calling Jody for the past three days, insisting that the Rapid City police department was completely incompetent and could not handle this situation. Despite Jody's reminders that the Black Hills Forest was not her jurisdiction, Dottie was hoping Jody might stop over at the police department and see if she could "sort things out", then she could stay at The Den for a few nights and take advantage of the place while Dottie flew off to her chalet in Colorado. While there had been some strange occurrences at the inn, The Den was completely safe and she'd stocked the place up with everything Jody could possibly want and more. She was not taking "no" for an answer. So Jody had finally said yes.

"Look," Jody continued. "Maybe if she'd offered me the condo in Naples I would have taken her up on it. I've been working 60 hour weeks for almost three weeks now. I'm cold, I'm tired, I want my own bed. The place is six hours away. As soon as I heard you were going to be in the neighborhood, I called her up. You guys are going to be _right there_ , I thought you'd jump at this. That's why I told her to go ahead and stock the place up! I even told her I liked burgers and whiskey-"

Dean laughed on the other end. "So you made that poor woman drive all over creation to fill a cabin with groceries and booze so that-"

"First off, _she is not poor_. That good for nothing husband of hers left her enough to keep her quite happy for the rest of her life in addition to what she already had coming into the marriage. Second, she has a service that does all the stocking and maintenance for her. Dottie Wilson does not have time to go grocery shopping. Nor does she have the time to take care of her many estates." Jody uttered the last two sentences in a thick British accent.

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, throwing another pair of socks into his duffel. "Dottie's from across The Pond?"

" _No_ ," Jody groaned. "She just talks that way. Anyway, the cabin's a few miles from the inn so it would make a perfect base camp for you to work from. I don't even mind helping you out with research-"

"Ok, ok. You know what?" Dean stopped her. "Fine. Why not-"

"Yes, YES! Thank you. You will not be sorry!"

"Famous last words."

"Really, Dean. You and Sam need this! You work too hard, and when do you ever just take a break?"

"Who said anything about taking a break? We're going to crash over night, eat all the food and be on our way!"

"Dean! No! No, you need to shut down for a couple days, relax! Walk in the woods, soak in the hot tub, watch some movies, just... be."

" _Just be_? You sound like a yoga instructor." Dean zipped up the duffel bag. "Jody, listen...I have to ask. I know you love us, really, I do, so don't take this the wrong way... but what's in it for you?"

'Wha-? Dean! I..." Jodi stammered, trying to sound shocked.

Dean just waited. She was pushing this way too hard.

Finally, Jodi sighed. "Ok, fine. I need this woman off my back. She keeps insisting that I need some time away and I 'need to stay at the cabin'. I 'need to bring a gentleman friend out to the cabin'" The British accent again. "I can't stand it anymore. So when she mentioned all that weird stuff going on, I kind of wondered if you two would be coming out this way, and sure enough..."

"She keeps insisting that you 'need some time away'? That sounds familiar."

Jodi's voice raised an octave. "I'm sorry... I'm _sorry_! Dean, honestly? I think she really just wants me to go check the place out. She gave me explicit instructions to stay away from the inn, but then she started in about all the eerie experiences she'd had there. I think that's her way of making it seem enticing."

Dean heard the hesitation in her voice. "So... you think she's full of it."

Jody sighed. "Well, three people are dead, so it seems like there must be something happening. But as for her 'eerie experiences', I think she's just gunning for a spot on _Ghost_ _Hunters_. She'd love the attention."

"Yeah, well... I guess I can take one for the team here."

" _Thank you._ "

"Don't tell Sammy, though. I'm going to surprise him. Might be nice to crash some place clean for once," Dean cringed as he thought of Sam and The Trials and all the newly forming worries that were brewing in his gut, the unshakable feeling that something was wrong with his little brother. He took a breath and shook the thoughts away. "Burgers and whiskey, huh? I think Sam is more into rabbit food and tea."

"Oh, don't worry. I think that's all she eats. The cabin is probably already full of that. And really, I can call her and ask for anything you want. Like I said, she's got that service at her beck and call. She would LOVE it if I actually asked for something. Seriously, what do you want?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Anything I want, huh?"

"Anything." Jodi replied.

"I'll text you my requests later. We're about ready to head out."

"So what do you think is going on out there, anyway?"

"Not sure, but it sounds like a vengeful spirit. This all started happening around the time of Mr. Wilson's death in prison, so I'm guessing he might not be too happy about not being in charge of his hotel anymore. Should be pretty simple. Salt, burn, in, out and on our way."

Even as he said the words, he knew very little of what they ever experienced was 'pretty simple'.

Just as he hung up the phone, Sam appeared in the doorway of his room. For the most part, he looked put together and ready to go, but something was off: the slightly dark circles under his eyes, the way he carried himself, hell- even his hair didn't fall quite right anymore. Nothing glaringly obvious, but Dean was sure it was more than just big-brother-worries about the Trials that was setting off his internal alarms. Something was wrong with his little brother and he didn't like it one bit. But he also knew he wasn't going to get anything out of Sam just yet. So for now, he would jut try to keep things as routine as he could while they weren't trying to close the Gates of Hell.

"Well, what do you say- ready to go?" Dean asked, daring to hope that Sam might just look at him and admit he didn't feel well. Maybe he would ask if they could pass this job onto another hunter. Dean already knew who he would call to take the case. Then he would find every blanket in the entire bunker, get the kid propped up with a bunch of pillows, feed him soup until he couldn't eat another bite, and make him rest for a week.

But, quite as expected, Sam just nodded, turned on his heels and headed for the stairs. He wasn't being curt or aloof... he was just exhausted. Dean followed close behind, knowing that for now, the best he could do was just be by his brother's side.

* * *

The first several hours went off without a hitch. They arrived in Black Hills, questioned the hotel manager, looked around and interviewed some of the staff. They confiscated a number of items that had belonged to Wilson that the victims might have come in contact with. Though Mr. Wilson had been tried and jailed in Sioux Falls, he'd been buried in the family cemetery in The Black Hills. A salt and burn that evening of bones and possessions, a quick check for EMF after that, and they would be on their way.

The snow started falling lightly as they pulled out of the hotel parking lot. Dean sighed and glanced at his watch. They were both hungry, dirty and exhausted, but could be back in Lebanon just before daybreak, asleep in their own beds. Sam was already curling up against the door. What had he been thinking, really? A plush cabin in the woods? When had glamping become his thing? He rolled his eyes.

The cell phone rang.

"You boys still at the hotel?" Jody asked, sounding concerned.

"No, we finished up a while ago."

"What time?"

"Uh... just over an hour, why?"

"Because there's been another death at the hotel. Another one of the house keeping staff- Sally Butler. Just _under_ an hour ago. Dottie called me."

Dean pulled the car over and turned around as he hung up the phone. "We missed something," he muttered.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh. "What could we have possibly missed?"

"I don't know, but Jody said there was another death- after we burned the bones." So much for a deep sleep on the memory foam. "I guess we'll be stopping off at Camp Dottie after all... eventually."

"What?" Sam gave a confused scrunch of his nose.

Dean shook his head. "Oh, you'll see. Let's go tie up these loose ends first."

 _Please, just be loose ends_ , Dean thought, trying with everything he had to find a flicker of hope.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. Just wanted to mention that if you have requests or thoughts about how the story is progressing, don't hesitate to share them with me either in comments or private messaging. While I have a pretty good idea of where I'm heading with this story, it's by no means written in stone and I gleaned an incredible amount of inspiration from you readers while I was writing_ To the Moon and Back _. Entire chapters were written based on things the readers asked for, mentioned, questioned and even sharply criticized (though it's much appreciated if you try to be a bit gentle with me if you take that route!). I can't promise to include everything, but I do love to hear about how you see these characters, your thoughts on their interactions and things you want in a story. One of the magical (and often frustrating) things about this show is all of the thing the writers don't let you see, but simply imply. It leaves the door open for imagination and interpretation. Hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks for reading._

* * *

Dean and Sam flashed their badges at the police officer who appeared to be in charge, and Dean approached the front desk. The manager was talking on the phone to a distraught hotel guest, assuring her that things were under control and that she would receive a full refund for her trouble. Dean nodded at him, but then wandered around the lobby patiently waiting for him to finish what he was doing. The boys studied their surroundings more carefully than before, looking for anything they might have missed. The lobby was decorated in a southwestern motif. Cow skulls, bronze busts of Indian chiefs and paintings of horses all peppered throughout the main floor, surrounded by stonework. A huge stone fireplace was the focal point of the main floor. The mantle was a large slab of stone supported by 4 short wooden beams underneath and some Native American symbols carved into the stone on the front edge. A large, intricately woven dream catcher hung on the chimney and on either side of it, two tomahawks.

Dean took out his phone and snapped a few pictures of the symbols, the chandelier and some of the lobby furniture and decor. He turned back to the main desk just as the manager, whose name was Walter according to his badge, let out a huge sigh and hung up the phone.

"I'm very sorry for the delay," he said gesturing apologetically with his hands and looking very frazzled. "The guests are all very upset."

"Yeah, I can imagine they would be." Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam who had made his way through the group of police officers and was headed toward the back room where the latest death had occurred.

"Don't take this the wrong way, agent Tabano, but I was really hoping we wouldn't have to meet again." Walter said sadly as he hunched over the counter, his wrinkled fingers folding together somewhat painfully. He appeared to be at least in his late seventies if not early eighties. "How can I help you?"

Dean offered him a sympathetic smile. "Whatever you can tell me about... Sally, was it?"

Walter nodded.

"Sally's behavior before her death."

Walter seemed more than willing to cooperate, but Dean watched him carefully during the inquiry. Eventually, he was pretty sure ( _again_ , since he'd already questioned the guy once) that Walter had nothing to do with any of this.

"She was scared, you know? Really scared," Walter was bending a paperclip back and forth as he answered Dean's questions. "It wasn't real bad at first. Considering everything that's been going on here, I probably wouldn't have thought anything of it. We were all kind of scared. Except she kept getting worse. Sometimes I could calm her down for a while, but eventually something would set her off again. And then she kept saying she had to go to her sister's. She took off after that. She was gone for a day and then she showed up for work this morning. She seemed ok again, just kind of nervous. Then tonight she just started screaming in that room... she was clawing at the floor and screaming... calling for her sister. And, well, you know the rest."

"Cardiac arrest. And the other deaths... they were all just like this?"

"The hotel guest that died here, he was an older gentleman and he also went into cardiac arrest, and Andy, our grounds keeper was found out in the old woodshed. Coroner confirmed he died of the same thing and I suppose that makes sense. Andy was getting on in years and had had one heart attack already a few years back, but Sally... she wasn't more than 30 years old," Walter said shaking his head sadly.

Dean nodded slowly, trying to offer a little compassion the way Sam would.

"I don't know much more about Andy or the guest. Evan Parker was the manager on duty at the time. Those happened during his shift. I didn't want to seem nosy."

"Will Mr. Parker be here later?"

"He should be getting here in about two hours, I would think."

"And what about the other victim? Lauren? I know we already talked about this, but is there anything else you can remember?"

"Just what I already told you. She was actin' the same as Sally." Walter suddenly looked concerned. "She was in the wine cellar in the restaurant, pullin' bottles off the shelf, smashing them all over and screaming something about a guy named Alex. Turns out Alex was her brother. Do you think these deaths are connected? Do you think there's something strange happening here?"

"Why?" Dean asked trying to sound neutral. "Do you?"

Walter looked at him for a moment before answering. He appeared to be trying to reason himself out of whatever he was thinking.

"I don't know," he answered, finally. "All I know is that as soon as Mr. Wilson Jr. passed on, we haven't had a normal day since. And now the FBI is here."

"Walter, besides the deaths, have you seen or heard anything unusual over the past few weeks? Anything at all?"

"No," Walter said earnestly. "At this point, I'm almost expecting to but I haven't!"

"Did any of the victims ever mention seeing anything?"

Walter shook his head. "No, Sir. But they sure acted like they had."

"Thank you for your time, Walter. I think we'll be back to talk to Mr. Parker when he arrives."

"Are you going back to your office? You're welcome to stay here, if you'd like," Walter looked almost eager, and then a bit disappointed as he added, "we have... lots of empty rooms."

Dean realized then the old man was nervous. The place was probably full most of the time, but guests were dwindling rapidly and no one else seemed to be checking in.

"How long before Mr. Parker's shift?"

"About 2 hours. Do you want a room to wait in?"

Dean started to shake his head, but then hesitated, the thought of lying down on a soft pillow and just closing his eyes for a little while...

"Uh... maybe that would-"

Walter reached into the cabinet. "Take two," he sighed. "Business isn't exactly booming this week."

Dean nodded and took the two keys Walter was holding out. "Thanks."

He wandered over to the other side of the lobby where Sam had returned and was absently running his hand over one of the symbols on the mantle.

"Anything?" Dean asked, doubtful.

"Nothing," Sam frowned. "No sulfur, no flickering lights, and just the same spotty EMF readings as before. Nothing to indicate actual ghosts or demons."

Dean held out one of the keys to him. "The other manager is going to be here in about two hours. Maybe he'll know something. What do you say we grab a little shut-eye until then?"

Sam took a final look around the lobby trying to spot any detail they might have overlooked before he took the key Dean was holding out to him. "Yeah, ok."

"C'mon," Dean patted his shoulder and nudged him forward as they wandered down the hall out of the lobby.

The rooms were at the end of the hall where a large glass door lead out to a patio with a bar, little white lights and a fire pit. No one was out there tonight.

Inside, an adjoining door connected the rooms and Sam opened it as soon as he entered. Dean took off his shoes and flopped onto the bed.

"You know," Sam said thoughtfully, leaning against the door frame and staring absently at a spot on the wall. "I'm wondering how many other deaths there have been that no one realizes are connected to whatever is going on here..."

"Probably at least a few." Dean threw an arm over his eyes blocking the light from Sam's room.

Sam disappeared momentarily, but then he returned, his back pressed up against the frame again. "I can't figure out what we're missing here."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, hoping Sam would go lie down.

Dean heard him wander off again and hoped he'd decided to go to sleep, but not more than two minutes later, he heard the door frame creak. He cracked one eye open to see Sam just leaning there, fiddling with a spot of chipped paint, like he was waiting for Dean to get up.

"Sammy, what are you doing? We've got like two free hours...get some rest, ok?" Dean tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice as best he could. The kid had been off since the night of the first Trial and Dean wanted to leave the lines of communication as open as possible if Sam ever wanted to open up about what was going on with him. They'd been through so much over the past few months, so many rough spots, and Dean was really glad that they were working together as brothers again. But honest to God, sometimes he just wanted 20 minutes to himself to close his eyes.

It was a few minutes before the light in Sam's room went off, but the glow from the laptop remained. And he never did close the adjoining door.

And then Dean lay awake, not so much because his mind was turning over things he'd learned or trying to make sense of what was going on, but because of that adjoining door. A tiny stab of guilt had been piercing away at him since the day he'd set up "his own room" in the bunker. While it was nice to have his own space, it was in some ways another wall that had gone up between them. He knew for the most part that Sam preferred his own space too, but every once in a while, he'd get a sense that it also made it easier to keep things bottled up.

Dean let out an exasperated sigh and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Maybe it was time to see if he could drag some information out of Sam about the effect of the Trials, really see how he was doing. Eventually, he stood and wandered over to the open door, fully expecting to see him wide awake and surfing the net for answers.

But Sam was out cold on his bed, laptop open, boots still on. He was partially curled up on his side, his nose pressed into the pillow, arm pulled tightly to his chest.

Dean's expression softened and his shoulders sagged. There wasn't much that could disarm him faster than Little Brother sound asleep, looking safe and comfortable, albeit a bit cold. Dean walked quietly over to the side of the bed and moved the laptop to the table. He pulled the extra blanked from the closet and very carefully draped a blanket over Sam. Sam didn't so much as twitch.

Dean moved quietly back to his own room and looked at his bed. It had seemed so inviting just a little while ago, but now he just wanted to get this case solved and over with so the two of them could take a much needed break. He glanced over his shoulder at the open adjoining door and then headed back out to the lobby.


	3. Chapter 3

_A note to readers: Just this one more chapter of set-up and then we will get into some good brother moments. Next chapter, promise! :)_

Dean was able to question a few more of the hotel employees before Evan Parker arrived for his shift, but no one had much to offer that seemed useful. Evan arrived a bit earlier than expected. He was younger than Walter, but not by much. And he looked equally shaken.

"I just don't understand. This can't be a coincidence. Can it?"

"Well, that's what we're here to figure out," Dean assured as he leaned his elbows on the counter and folded his hands together. "Tell me more about how Andy was behaving before his death."

"I don't know," Evan sighed and wrung his hands. He was shifting back and forth from one foot to the other as he contemplated what details were important enough to share. "He seemed...off. Maybe nervous, I don't know. Andy kept to himself a lot.

"Had he been coming to work regularly?"

"Yes. No- actually, he took a couple days off right before the incident... He had looked a little ill and I'd seen him resting a few times when he was outside, so I thought maybe he'd caught a bug or something. I didn't think that was important before-" Evan looked suddenly guilty.

"It's all right, sometimes things don't fall into place right away. Where did he go?"

"Not sure, but he mentioned something about Rapid City."

"And what about right before he died?"

"He was chopping wood for the fire place. I went out to see what was taking him so long and... he was lying on the floor, dead. I don't think he'd actually chopped any wood, but he did a number on the woodshed floor."

"Excuse me?"

"The woodshed floor had a few hatchet marks in it like Andy was tryin' to chop the place down or something."

"Do you mind if I have another look at the woodshed?" Dean asked. He hadn't actually had a first look, but decided it best not to mention that.

"If you think it would help whatever it is you're lookin' for." Evan said, waving his hand towards the side door of the lobby.

Dean thanked him and made his way outside. The snow had started falling a bit steadier and he wished he was wearing more than just his suit jacket. The woodshed was an old stone building, a little more than half the size of his bedroom in the bunker. It had likely been a smoke house long before it had served as a place to store tools and firewood. Everything in the building looked old, except for six of the planks on the floor where it appeared someone had repaired or replaced a part of the floor. Dean shone his flashlight down at his feet and sure enough, there were about half a dozen chunks taken out of the floorboards.

A quick scan of the small building and Dean located just what he needed. "Alright, Andy. Let's see what you were after." Dean pulled a crowbar off the tool rack on the wall and went to work. Three boards removed from the floor gave Dean easy enough access to the dirt below. He grabbed a shovel from the corner of the shed and scraped carefully at the earth. Not more than a couple inches deep, the shovel dragged against what felt like wood. Dean set the shovel aside and cleared the dirt with his hands. Buried just below the surface was a small trap door with an iron handle. He took out three more floorboards and was able to open the hatch which revealed a hole in the ground with a ladder leading down into the black.

He considered going to get Sam, but only for a second. He would just take a quick look first. He climbed down the ladder into the pit. The hollowed out room below was small with an old chair and wooden shelves lining the stone walls of the cavern where layers of dust and cobwebs had settled on brown and white ceramic jugs and pieces of what appeared to be an old moonshine still.

"Now this is a man-cave," Dean mused.

Shining his light around, he notice that the floor dropped off about ten feet from where he was standing. Another ladder lead down into a tunnel. As much as he wanted to keep going, he knew it was time to go get some back up. Sam had had plenty of time to rest. Dean turned towards the ladder leading back to the woodshed and started climbing back out. But in a dark corner under the ladder, something reflected the glare of his flashlight. Dean tilted his head to look between the rungs, but couldn't really make out what had caught the beam of light. What he could see was a distinct lack of dust near a wooden box on the bottom shelf. He climbed back down and pulled the box out from its hiding place. On top, someone had placed a Bible and a gold cross on a chain. The box itself had a cross in the middle and a lock in front which Dean picked in a matter of seconds. But he was hardly prepared for the human skull he found inside.

"Well... that's normal," he murmured as he returned the box to its place on the shelf. Definitely time to go wake up his head researcher. Plus, he was freezing. He climbed out of the hole, replaced the boards carefully and moved a few tools and boxes to cover the hatchet marks.

Back inside the hotel, Dean made his way through the quiet lobby toward the hallway. Evan was typing away on the computer at the front desk. Most of the police officers had dispersed and the inn was shrouded in an almost eerie quiet.

"You're not a government man, are you?" called a soft voice from the corner of the room.

"Excuse me?" Dean turned to see an older man with long, silver hair who was stacking kindling in a metal rack beside the fireplace. Dean had seen this gentleman when he and Sam had been investigating the first time. He had been washing the windows.

The man kept working as he spoke, not looking directly at Dean. "You are not FBI."

Dean stammered a bit, trying to figure out whether he should come up with an excuse or start questioning him.

The man stopped then and looked knowingly at Dean. "It was not Mr. Wilson's ghost that killed those people."

Right. Questioning. Dean put one hands in his pocket and leaned casually against the fireplace mantle He rubbed his thumb over one of the symbols engraved in the stone and gazed around at the almost tacky décor of the lobby. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about what's been going on?" Dean asked.

The man shrugged as he kept stacking the wood. "I hope I can help."

His name was Marcus Redbird, Dean discovered. He was born to Navajo parents and from what Dean could gather, considered himself a professional story teller.

"How long have you worked here?"

"Since I was a boy. My parents and my grandparents worked here. The Wilsons were never very nice men, but the pay is good and the hours are fair."

"Sometimes you can't ask for more than that. What can you tell me about these symbols?" Dean tapped the edge of the mantel.

"They are protection symbols," Marcus said with a shrug. "But they don't seem to be working."

Dean picked up a hand carved stone peace pipe that was lying beside a framed sandpainting and a vase of flowers with a southwestern motif painted on the side.

"And what about all this... stuff?" Dean asked, gesturing towards the dream catcher with his free hand. "Has anything been changed recently?"

"It's been this way as long as I can remember."

"Is this stuff real?" Dean held the peace pipe up to his nose and sniffed.

Marcus just looked at him for a moment and considered his question. "Well, if you mean created by the indigenous people... yes. If you mean does it hold any ceremonial importance, then, no."

Dean gave him a lopsided grin and nodded, placing the peace pipe back in front of the sandpainting. "What makes you think we're looking for ghosts?"

Marcus chuckled. "Lot of people come here looking for ghosts."

"Anybody ever have any luck with that?"

"Not much," Marcus replied. "There are many spirits here at the inn and in these woods, but not many who stay for long."

"Can I ask if you might have any thoughts about what is going on in this hotel?"

Marcus cleared his throat and walked stiffly over to the seating area. He settled into a chair and motioned for Dean to do the same. Elbows on his knees, folded hands and a far off gaze told Dean he was in for a long story.

"This hotel and some of the other buildings on this street were built by John Wilson on land he took from the Lakota Sioux. The chief didn't want to give up the land, but Mr. Wilson was bound and determined to get it. He was doing well with his gold mining and wanted to profit from the other people who were coming to the town in hopes of finding their own wealth. So he talked to a young brave named Sani from the Navajo tribe that bordered the Lakota land to the south, a tribe that was also in danger of losing their land. Mr. Wilson promised Sani wealth and prosperity and safety for his tribe. He would teach Sani of _áńt'įįzhį_ in exchange for his help in convincing the Lakotas to part with the land he wanted."

"Teach what now?" Dean tilted his head.

"The Witchery Way. It is a very powerful witchcraft."

"Why didn't Wilson just learn it himself- why involve this other tribe?"

Marcus chuckled a bit. "Not something a white man can do. Only the Navajos. And only Navajos from the bloodline of healers and shaman."

Marcus went on to describe how Wilson had built a small house away from his family on the bordering Navajo land, just a mile or two from where the inn now stood, and how the Lakotas were afraid when they learned what Sani and Jack Wilson were doing. "One day, Sani's brother Shilah disappeared. When the Lakotas learned of this, they decided to give a part of their land away to Mr. Wilson if he would leave their people alone. So Mr. Wilson started building his hotel and left the Lakotas in peace."

"So the whole evil-witch-doctor thing never had to happen?"

"It never needed to happen, but it had already been started. You see, to truly acquire the powers of the Witchery Way, one must do terrible things. Sani was young. He didn't understand this."

"What kind of terrible things?"

"He had to murder his brother."

Dean's stomach churned, but he kept his composure as best he could and stayed focused. "Did he know this going into it?"

"No, but the Lakotas did. Shilah's disappearance was why the Lakotas gave up their land. They were afraid that Sani had killed Shilah and now had the powers of the Witchery Way."

"Did he?"

"Not at first. Mr. Wilson was keeping Shilah locked away in his house in the forest for this very reason: to make the Lakotas believe he had been murdered. When Sani finally learned that his brother was missing, he looked for him for many days and nights but never found him. Shilah got very, very sick and he finally died."

"Wait- wait, I thought you said Sani killed him? That wasn't his fault-" even as the words left his mouth Dean knew it didn't matter. The younger brother was his responsibility and he was off doing something stupid instead of keeping an eye on the kid. If he were in Sani's moccasins, he'd have felt guilty of murder too.

And Marcus went on to explain as much. "It did not matter. When Sani found out what had happened, his heart was filled with anguish and grief as well as revenge. Knowing that Shilah died alone, sick and afraid, wondering why his brother never came for him was more than Sani could bear. It did not matter if he killed him with his own hands, what mattered for the magic to work was that Sani believed in his heart that he had killed Shilah. Shilah had begged him not to work with Mr. Wilson, many members of the tribe had pleaded with him, but Sani felt he was doing what was best for his people. But when Shilah died, he realized he should have listened. He took on the powers of the Witchery Way, he cursed the Wilson family and then took his own life. His people found their bodies together at the bottom of a cliff. They could not bring Sani back to be buried on tribal land because of what he had become, so they buried the brothers together at the base of the mountain."

"And Mr. Wilson died right after that?"

"No, the curse lasted many years. Sani wanted Mr. Wilson to live long enough to experience the same anguish that he felt. Many horrible things happened to Mr. Wilson and his family and even though his business was flourishing, he became a lonely and bitter man. And all of his sons and grandsons after him experienced the same demise."

"Well, that explains the Wilsons, but what about the other deaths?"

Marcus shook his head. "I don't know what's happening to these people, but I know it has something to do with The Witchery Way. As soon as one dies, another becomes infected. But they are dying much more quickly now. The Wilson men lived for decades with the suffering and anger. These people now, only a few weeks, sometimes days. And they are not angry, but sick and afraid."

"Do you know how to stop it? How we can save these people?"

"No, I only know the story. Only a shaman might be able to find the answers. There was one boy who survived because of a shaman. He is Navajo. His name is Tulley. He and his sister Kai came to the inn one day looking for work. It was two days after Lauren died in the wine cellar. The inn needed help even before her death so they hired both of them. I noticed after a few days that Tulley seemed uncomfortable...almost frightened. Sometimes he would not come to work. When he did, he would stay beside his sister and not do his job. Kai tried to shoo him away, but she seemed worried for him. One day, Tulley left the inn and went into the woods. They found him in the old Wilson house and he did not remember how he got there," Marcus paused a moment and looked thoughtful. "I think some of the others may have gone there too."

"How do you know that?"

"Sally asked me one day about an old house in the woods, if I knew whose house it was. She would not tell me why, but it seemed strange that she would even know about the house. She was..."

"Not really the outdoors-y type?"

Marcus shook his head. "No."

"So what happened with Tulley?"

"They brought him to the hospital. He did not come back to work after that day. Kai returned for a few more days and I asked her about Tulley. She told me he had moments when he didn't seem to know who she was and other times when he would not leave her side. Sometimes he was very sick and so tired he could not move from his bed. They did not know what was wrong with him. She told me their mother was taking them to a healer in Pine Ridge."

"And this healer- he was able to help them?"

"I think so. Tulley is still alive. They did not return to the inn, but I looked in on them. They live not quite an hour southeast of here. Kai would not tell me everything, but she says there is something in this hotel. Something angry and frightened."

Dean digested this information. Four people they knew of and now one, Tulley, discovered by chance. Sam was right, how many more had there been? And every time one died, another became infected.

In that moment, Dean had a sudden and sickening realization. Sally's death meant that someone else was infected. Someone else was starting to show signs of this illness, this curse, whatever it was. Perhaps exhibiting unusual, nervous behavior...  
Like leaving an adjoining door open in a hotel room, or not wanting to go to sleep.

 _Sam!_

Dean stood up so suddenly that the chair he'd been sitting in almost tipped backwards. Marcus looked somewhat startled, but Dean was too gripped by panic to notice.

He was running down the hall, but he knew before he even got to the room. He could see the door to the outside was slightly ajar. A small amount of snow had gotten packed in, just enough to keep the door from closing all the way. He could feel the cold air swirling down the hall. But he burst into the room anyway.

Sam was gone.

"Sam?" Dean called, knowing he would not get an answer. "Sam!"

And no matter how many times it happened, it never lessened. The pain of separation from his brother, the _terror_ of not knowing where he was burned through him like acid, turning his stomach and stealing the air from his lungs.

Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Sam's number and of course, there was no answer. Next, he tried Jody's number. He told her everything that had happened and everything he'd learned as he went out into the cold and circled the inn, checking the woodshed, the car and any other possible place his brother could be.

Back inside, Dean sprinted down the hall and into the lobby where Marcus had gone back to stacking wood by the fireplace.

"Marcus," Dean panted, motioning for Marcus to follow him back to the small conference room and away from the few police officers still writing notes and standing around.

"I need your help," Dean said, his voice full of urgent desperation. "You were right, we're not FBI, we're hunters. My brother and I, we're-"

Marcus nodded. "Monster slayers."

Dean just looked at him for a moment and then decided it wasn't worth his time to find out how Marcus knew or what a Monster Slayer was exactly- it sounded close enough to consider accurate. "Ok, yeah, but here's the deal. He's in trouble. I don't want there to be any more deaths from this... curse, or whatever. Where is that house? The old Wilson homestead?"

Marcus blinked at him in surprise. "It's... it's in the woods. Very deep in the woods. You can take the road part way there, but the rest of the way you have to walk. Drive to the bridge over the waterfall. Walk down to the creek and follow it upstream. You will see the remains of the house-"

Dean had a feeling there were more directions, but that was enough to get him there. He bolted out the front door to where Baby sat waiting at the base of the stairs. He started the engine and peeled out of the driveway.


	4. Chapter 4

It was amazing, when Dean really thought about it, how quickly things had broken down. How he'd gone from planning a little relaxing weekend and working a seemingly typical case to desperately searching for his missing brother.

Dean parked the car right where he'd seen the footprints cross the road again. He'd driven only a short distance down the hill from the hotel, and now he was running through the woods, following a trail he wasn't even sure had anything to do with where Sam was. He could barely see. An occasional broken branch and a few large foot prints in the mud picked up in the beam of his flashlight were all he had to go on. It was better than nothing, so he followed. Snow and rain were falling together as the temperature fluctuated around the freezing point. How the hell had it gotten so cold so fast?

"Dean, you don't understand. You _have_ to find him," Jodi insisted over the crackling cell phone. Her voice was steady, but Dean knew her well enough to hear the frantic worry behind the stern demand. He was surprised at how defensive he suddenly felt, as though he were being scolded by a disappointed parent.

"Don't you think I'm-"

"Yes," Jody breathed apologetically. "Yes, I know, I'm sorry. I just- you have to hear what I found. There were two other deaths in the area that I am pretty sure are connected to this- one heart attack, one _suicide_. Both of the people had spent time at that hotel. And both of them went to a sibling before they died acting scared out of their minds."

And that was with just a little digging, Dean thought. How many others were had there been?

"And another thing- Andy Bedford, the hotel employee who died, had a brother in Rapid City. I'll bet my next paycheck that's where he was headed. I haven't checked it out yet, but I will. And if that's true, then every case involved a need for contact with a sibling. Each victim experienced some sort of delusions or hallucinations that come and go, escalating over time and eventually driving them to heart attacks or apparently, sometimes suicide."

Dean didn't respond.

"Dean? _Dean_!"

"What?" Dean snapped, trying to focus through his rising panic on what Jody was saying.

"Haunting? Possession?"

"But there's no cold spots, no EMF readings, how can-"

"I don't know," Jody huffed in terrified frustration, already having decided for herself it was neither of those things. Hearing Dean confirm it did not make her feel any better.

The cell phone went completely silent for a moment.

"Jody? Jody?"

"I'm still here. You're breaking up, too. Listen, I'm still digging around, but I'm pretty certain at this point that your friend Marcus is right; we're not dealing with Mr. Wilson at all. This has to do with the two Navajo brothers and that witchy mumbo-jumbo stuff-"

"Witchery Way?"

"Yes. Whatever."

"But if Sam is being affected by whatever was happening to the other victims, then why did he run off? Why wouldn't he come looking for me?" Dean was moving faster now, running through the forest, ignoring the branches scratching his skin and the frigid water in puddles that occasionally rose above the level of his boots.

"Did he know where you were?"

"Of course he-" Dean stopped suddenly, remembering that he'd gone to the woodshed. So if Sam had ventured back out into the lobby looking for him... "No-actually no. He might not have." Dean was moving faster now, running through the forest, ignoring the branches scratching his skin and the frigid water that occasionally rose above the level of his boots.

"Then he probably went looking for you-"

That thought did nothing to ease the churning in Dean's stomach. "There's a healer, a Shaman...in Pine Ridge. According to Marcus Redbird, he helped a boy that had been affected by this... whatever this is." Dean panted as he proceeded to tell Jody about Tulley and Kai. "Do you think you could find him?"

"I'm on it. You find your brother."

Just as Dean dropped the phone from his ear and hung up, the screen lit up with another call coming through.

 _Sam_.

He pressed the call accept and raised the phone back up to his ear. "Sam?"

"...Dean?"

"Sammy, _where are you_?" Dean demanded, panic rising in his throat.

"I... I don't k-know..." Sam's voice was shaking, breathless. "Dean-"

 _Sammy_... Dean's chest constricted with terror at the sound of the distress his brother's voice. He sounded almost distant, like he was using the speaker phone, and the cell coverage was getting worse the deeper he went into the woods.

"Sam are you all right? Are you hurt?"

There was a long pause. "I... I don't... know..."

"Ok, ok, listen. I'm coming to get you. You sit tight and let's figure this out, ok?"

There was no answer from the other end, just breathing and a soft, pained cry.

"Sam? Sammy, I need you to help me out here. _Where. Are. You?_ You know the drill. Look around, tell me what you see."

"It's... dark and...I'm cold. There's... there's blood...I can't do this Dean, I'm..." Sam's voice was quiet, almost sluggish, but Dean heard the tremor of fear clearly.

"Sam, what is wrong with you?" Dean demanded, summoning the most commanding voice he could through his own fear. "Tell me where you are!"

There was no response.

"Sam!"

There was a wet gasp on the other end of the line. "Dean...please..."

 _Shit_. Dean forced his voice to soften as he suddenly realized the tone he was using might not be such a good idea. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. "Sammy, ok... ok, buddy, I'm here. Listen to me. I'm right here with you. I'm on my way, you just need to help me out, ok? Can you do that for me?"

"Dean...I think something's coming." Sam had lowered his voice to almost a whisper.

 _Damn it, NO!_ "Nothing's coming to get you but me, Sam. I want to get you out of there, but you've got to give me something to go on, ok? Did you go to an old house? Come on...can you help me out here? Please?"

A few deep breaths and Sam finally answered. "Ok, I'm- yes... I'm in... a house, I think. I think I fell through a floor... I'm kind of remembering just bits and pieces. There's chains... and wires," his voice was shaky. "There's rain and snow coming in from the walls... cold..."

Dean kept his own voice as steady as he could. "I know... I know you're cold. Can you go outside and look around?"

"I can't," Sam whispered. "I can't move- the wires...I've tried... I can't, I'm sorry-"

Blood? Wires? Dean was starting to wonder if Sam had hit his head when he fell. "Ok, ok- hey, it's not your fault. We're gonna get you out. Can you remember anything about getting to the house? There's a ravine and a pretty deep creek here, but no bridge. Did you cross that?"

"I don't... I don't know. I'm pretty wet... maybe."

"Ok, well-" Dean spotted a section of the wall of the ravine where someone had slid part way in the mud. "I'm gonna take that as a yes. Damn it!" he cursed through clenched teeth as he waded knee deep through the creek.

Dean could hear Sam's ragged breaths in between the occasional breaking up of the call.

"Dean, I'm sorry... 'm s-sorr-"

"Sammy, stop. There's noting to be sorry for. Are you still with me? Sam?"

For a moment, Dean was afraid the call had dropped out, but then Sam was there again. "Don't... don't know what's wrong- something isn't right," he said desperately, seeming to fade between delusion and reality. "Don't leave me, please don't leave me in here-"

"Sammy," Dean's insides froze and it wasn't from the icy water that was numbing his legs. The sound of desperation in his little brother's voice sent every cell in his body into protective big brother mode. And he had a sudden realization of what was going on. In addition to whatever it was that he had, Sam was developing hypothermia. "I'm here. I'm right here on the phone with you, I promise I'm not gonna leave you alone, you hear me?" _Sammy, get it together, man. I can't do this without you!_

"... Dean..."

"Sammy, you fight this!" Before he realized what was happening, Dean's voice had involuntarily reverted into John-Winchester-drill-sergent tone again. "Get it together _right now_." He froze, finally realizing what was happening, hoping he hadn't sent Sam into another tailspin.

But Sam's breathing slowly became less labored. "Yeah... Yeah, I... ok-"

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. This time, it had worked. "Ok. Listen, let's just keep talking, I'm following your trail. I'll be right there any minute."

There was another long silence.

"Sam? Sam!"

"... it's coming back..." Sam whispered. And the call was lost.


	5. Chapter 5

The house was old and forgotten. It sat waiting, glancing out at him from behind sapling trees that had pushed up from beneath its bones and now reached out through the cavities of its broken windows. The snow had stopped for the moment and the moon had come out again, a sparse trickle of blue light that filtered through the tree branches. He could see more of the river now, snaking around behind the house and weaving its way through the dense forest. A narrow bridge stretched across it farther upstream.

Dean cursed silently to himself, realizing then that Marcus had probably been about to tell him about a bridge when he'd run off. Well, no one to blame but himself, he thought, cringing as the water soaking his pant legs began to freeze. He approached the house cautiously, gun drawn. He stepped gingerly through the doorway, all senses on high alert.

The house was deathly quiet in some spots and the wind whispered eerily though others. Dean moved the flashlight around the room, fanning it back and forth as he advanced through the decaying structure, watching for anything out of the ordinary and keeping a careful eye on where he was walking to avoid any rotting boards in the floor. Most of the windows were broken and there were several spots where parts of the walls had just rotted away. The rooms were littered with remnants of old furniture, broken beer bottles and various items that looked more like they belonged in a shed or a garage than a house. Water dripped from multiple openings in what was left of the ceiling. Dean could hear a sound coming from upstairs, probably more water dripping. As he started to ascend the stairs to investigate, a soft groaning caught his attention from down the hall. Dean proceeded with caution in the direction the sound had come from. In the last room at the end of the hall, he found him.

Sam was there in the corner, pressed up against the far wall, panting and shaking, his face caked with blood and dirt. It appeared as though he had fallen through the floor from above. There was debris and old, rotted boards scattered across the floor and on top of him. But the strangest thing was the old barbed wire that Sam appeared to be tangled in. He had somehow managed to get it wrapped around his arms and the skin on his wrists was raw and bloodied. He was muddy and drenched from head to toe. His cell phone was on the floor now, just out of reach.

"Sammy," Dean lowered the gun moved towards Sam. Three steps in and Sam was twisting away from him, pulling against the wires and gasping for air in panicked wheezes. His eyes were wild and terrified as he tried to get farther away from Dean with what little energy he had left.

"Sam..." Dean stopped and lifted his hands peacefully. "Ok, ok, Sammy, it's just me... buddy, stop...come on..."

There was no change. Sam was pressing himself up against the debris all around him, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched and tears streaming down his cheeks. "No! Stay away from me!" he breathed out weakly in a desperate panic.

 _What the hell,_ Dean thought _._ "Sam?"

" _Nooo_!"

"Sam! _SAM_!" Dean forced himself not to get any closer even though everything inside him wanted to grab Sam and shake him until he snapped out of whatever had a hold of him. "It's _me_! Dude, what the hell has gotten into you-"

"Dean! Deeeaan!" His voice was desperately calling for help but Sam was not looking a him as he screamed his bother's name.

The protective instinct that had been honed for decades surged inside him at the sound and he couldn't stop himself. He dropped to his knees in front of Sam and took him by the arms, despite the screaming that ensued.

"Sammy! Look at me! I'm right here! I'm _right here,_ kiddo."

Sam twisted and jerked away from him, taking in terrified gasps of air between sobs.

"Sam, stop! _Stop_!" Dean wrestled his arms steady and pinned him up against the wall to keep him from moving. "You need to fight this, ok? It's just me, little brother. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Sam was gasping for air and sobbing as he turned his face away from Dean.

Dean held him like that for a moment. After a while, he was still shaking and gasping for air, but wasn't fighting him anymore. Somehow, it almost made Dean feel worse.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Come on... Let's slow it down and breathe... let's get you out of here. Car's right outside."

It wasn't a total lie, but certainly not the whole truth. The car was a good hike away.

Sam wasn't talking and wouldn't, or perhaps couldn't, meet his gaze. He squeezed his eyes shut then as he tried desperately to curl in on himself and away from Dean.

"Breathe, dude, come on...I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean whispered. "It's just me... Sammy, _please_!"

And then Dean moved his hand carefully to Sam's chest where he could feel his heart pounding. He slowed his own breathing, willing Sam to calm down... and his brother stilled.

Sam let out a soft moan. His gasping breaths slowed ever so slightly and he cautiously turned his head to face Dean. As soon as Dean felt the struggling stop, he released his grip on Sam's arm, but left his other hand where it was against Sam's chest. Sam swallowed as another tear rolled down his cheek and then quietly uttered, "D-Dean?"

"Yes," Dean said softly, relief coursing through his veins as he reached up and pushed the hair off Sam's forehead. He quickly removed the jacket he was wearing that he'd grabbed from the trunk before heading into the woods. He draped it over Sam's shoulders, careful not to startle him. "Yeah, just me... just you and me. You're ok, Sam... it's ok." He wanted to wipe the blood and dirt from Sam's eyes, but wasn't sure if that would make things worse or not. He decided it best not to touch anything until he could get Sam to a water source and give his eyes a thorough rinsing. He settled instead for running his hand over Sam's head to check for bumps and see if he could figure out where all the blood had come from.

"Dean!" Sam jolted forward towards his brother only to be stopped by the wires. He grunted and cringed in pain.

"Whoa! Sammy, don't!" Dean reached out and pressed against his shoulders, keeping him from leaning forward any further. "Don't... you're going to hurt yourself even more than you already have. What the _hell_ , dude-" Dean said softly, cringing at the sight of Sam's wrists.

To Dean's shock, Sam curled deeper into the jacket, hung his head and started to cry.

"Sam? Hey! Oh, Sam... no, no, no... hey, come on, buddy," Dean soothed, placing a gentle hand on the side of Sam's face and thumbing away tears. "Sammy... shhh...come on, let's get you out of here and warmed up, ok? Listen, I'm just going to see if I can get this off of you. I'm gonna lift up your arm, just a little," he said softly, making sure to tell Sam his every move before touching him. He reached over and carefully untangled the barbed wire shackles, noticing with some concern that Sam should easily have been able to free himself. The wire was tangled, wrapping securely around Sam's arms and wrists, but certainly not enough to prevent him from getting out. Dean also noticed that there were no chains as he thought he remembered Sam mentioning on the phone.

"Sammy, are you hurt?" Dean asked as he was removing the wire. "Can you move-"

As if in answer to the question, Sam heaved himself forward again and wrapped his now free arm around Dean's neck, clutching at his shirt and shaking.

Dean worked quickly to free Sam's other hand and then pulled him into a tight embrace, murmuring softly against the side of his head. "Ok, c'mere... c'mere, it's all right..."

But setting Sam free did nothing to ease Dean's fears about the situation. Sam was shivering violently and _clinging_ to Dean. He was freezing and drenched with rain water, his fists clenched around the fabric of Dean's shirt. He burrowed up against his brother, desperately seeking warmth and comfort which Dean was more that willing to provide, but all the while fully aware that for Sam to openly seek either was a red flag. Sam sucked in terrified gasps of air between wet sobs.

"Sam, settle down," Dean whispered, keeping the panic that was rising again out of his voice. He wanted to ask Sam what had happened, he wanted to demand answers, but now was not the time. "I've got you. I'm here... Give me your hands." Dean moved both of Sam's hands to his chest and pressed them under his own hand to warm them.

Sam had his face buried in the collar of Dean's shirt as he tried desperately to explain what was happening to him. "Don't know wh-what's w-rong... I can't... I can't-"

"Shh... I know, kiddo, I know. You're gonna be all right. We're gonna take care of you. We're gonna figure this out-" Dean kept his voice low and gentle.

"No... no! I'm so- I'm... I...can't breathe- I'm-" he was bordering on panic, but his voice was alarmingly sluggish at the same time.

"Yes, you can," Dean whispered, shifting forward so he was sitting right up next to Sam, hip to hip facing him as he cradled Sam's head against his shoulder. "Yes you can. I'm here. You're ok-"

"Dean-" Sam tried lift his head, but didn't get far.

"Right here, bro." Dean spoke as slowly and as calmly as he could, rubbing his free hand up and down Sam's arm. "We're gonna get you out of here, ok? Come on, help me out, Sam. Let's get you to the car and I want to get you warmed up and take a look at you."

"Tired..." Sam mumbled then and Dean's stomach lurched.

"What?" He grabbed Sam's shoulders roughly and pushed him back. "No-no-no- HEY!" Dean barked, demanding his brother's attention.

Sam looked dazedly up at him and then his head lolled forward.

"Sammy, you stay awake, you understand me?" Dean said, his hands lifting Sam's face.

Sam forced his eyes open.

"'Sam! Ok, that's it. We gotta go, dude. Get up."

Sam groaned in protest as Dean lifted him up, wrapped an arm around his back and coaxed him to start walking.

"Come on, that's it. One foot in front of the other." Dean lead him unsteadily out of the house and into the forest where the snow had started again, this time without the rain.

Sam cringed and pressed up against his brother's side, ducking his head from the wind. "H-how... f-far?"

Dean clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering as he wrapped the jacket tighter around Sam. "Far enough. Keep moving."

They moved through the trees at a pace much slower than Dean would have liked, but at least they were moving. That is, until Sam collapsed.

"Whoa- whoa, easy... c'mon, Sam. You can do this."

Sam was panting and struggling to stand.

"Do not make me carry you out of here- I'll do it." Dean threatened, arm still securely around Sam's back as he squeezed his brother closer to his side.

"I- I know..." Sam said, trying to sound annoyed. He took a deep breath and dragged himself back to his feet, using Dean as a support.

"There you go. C'mon. Only a little farther."

But although Sam had gotten back on his feet, he was not moving.

"Sam? Sam, Come on... let's pick up the pace a bit here, dude. Sam?"

Sam was frozen in place, grasping Dean's arm and trying hard to steady his breathing.

"Sammy, what?"

Sam was pulling Dean behind a tree, his eyes fixed on a spot in the distance. "Shh!" Sam insisted. "He'll hear us."

Dean was silent then. He looked around, but didn't see anything. Or hear anything, for that matter. "Sam..." he whispered gently. "Who will hear us?"

Sam turned to him then and shook his head, looking confused and close to tears again. "I don't... I don't know."

Dean blew out his breath and pushed gently on Sam's back, nudging him forward. "Ok. We need to get you to the car. Now."


	6. Chapter 6

Sam leaned heavily on Dean's arm, trying to steady his breathing and summon the strength to keep walking. " 'm okay... 's okay." Sam repeated, trying to reassure his brother as much as himself, as Dean murmured nervous encouragements and slowly moved them both forward through the trees and the falling snow.

"That's right. You're gonna be fine. We're gonna get you back to the car and warm you right up." Dean agreed softly, keeping a firm grip across Sam's back. He kept his voice low and moved as quietly as he possibly could so he could hear any movement around them. There was a growing uneasiness in his belly. He wasn't sure if it was intuition or because Sam seemed so unnerved, but his senses were on high alert, watching for movement, listening for sounds, monitoring his brother's breathing.

"What... what are we d-dealing with?"

"Not sure yet," Dean whispered, wishing Sam wouldn't talk right now, but also grateful for the opportunity to distract him. "I've got Jody looking into it right now."

"Jody?" Sam asked, relieved that even though they were stuck out in the middle of the woods, someone was working on this.

"Yeah. She's got as much info as we do and she's on it, trust me. We need to get out of here, all right? Time to find a place to crash for the rest of the night and figure this out. I don't know about you, but I'm thinking a place with some clean bedding and maybe a fireplace to warm you up. Maybe something a little nicer than our usual go-to. What do you say?"

"So picky..." Sam said weakly.

Dean didn't like the tremor in his voice, but found some relief in the fact that the kid was making a small attempt at banter . "All right, come on," Dean said, urging Sam forward. He was relieved that he'd happened to see the bridge over the stream so they hadn't had to cross it the hard way coming back.

It seemed like ages, but they finally reached the edge of the woods and the road stretched out before them like a lifeline in a vast ocean of trees. The Impala waited, her usual sheen of black completely obscured by at least an inch or two of newly fallen snow.

"Cold," Sam breathed and grimaced, his fingers digging into the fabric of Dean's shirt.

"Very cold, Captain Obvious. Let's get you in the car and clean you up a little," Dean said as he opened the passenger side door.

Sam collapsed onto the seat and closed his eyes, shivering.

Dean reached into the back seat and grabbed a t-shirt out of his duffel, a water bottle, the first aid kit and a blanket. He spread the blanket across Sam's lap. Then he hurried to the driver's side, started the car and cranked the heat all the way up.

"Hey, turn this way," Dean instructed as he soaked the shirt he was holding with water.

Sam didn't argue, just did as he was told, a bit too submissive for Dean's liking. Dean reached over and very gently wiped at Sam's eyes. Sam barely flinched at the icy water touching his face and then Dean remembered he was probably so cold he barely noticed. "Let's clean up these wrists, huh?"

Wordlessly, Sam extended an arm from underneath the blanket for Dean to examine. They were cut up and bloody from the barbed wire, but there were also bruises. Big ones, as though Sam's wrists had been shackled with something much bigger than wire.

"Sammy, how did you get these marks?"

Sam was leaning against the head rest, eyes closed, still shaking. "Th' chains..." he mumbled.

"What chains? There was only wire-"

Sam forced his eyes open and looked down at his wrists. "The wires, I mean," Sam said slowly with a hint of confusion. "I guess."

Dean didn't push it. He would grill Sam later after he got him clean and warm. Dean brought the blanket up around Sam's shoulders. Sam clutched the edges and wrapped it tightly around himself, sinking back into the seat.

"Gonna be ok..." Dean murmured softly giving Sam's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

It was not long into the drive before Dean realized that going back to the hotel was not going to be an option. There was no way the Impala would make it back up the hill. The road was covered with a thick layer of snow that covered a thin layer of ice, making even driving downhill treacherous. Originally, his plan had been to head back to the inn, get Sam tucked into a warm bed and gank whatever son-of-a-bitch was causing this problem. But plan B would have to suffice, and at this point, as long as it involved getting Sam somewhere safe, he was on board.

They rode in silence for the first ten to fifteen minutes, during which time they traveled about 3 miles. Dean kept a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and Sam kept himself wrapped tightly in the blanket, leaning slightly in Dean's direction.

The phone ringing startled them both.

It was Jody. "Did you find him?"

"Yeah, yeah I-"

"Well, _thanks_ for the update! _God_!"

Dean cast a sheepish glance toward Sam, knowing he could hear Jody yelling through the phone. Sam's eyes glistened with slight amusement, still working hard to mask his pain and terror.

"Sorry, I was gonna-"

"Whatever," Jody said with more than a hint of annoyance in her tone. "How is he?"

Dean looked hesitantly over at Sam, knowing Sam would not enjoy having his emotional breakdown relayed to a third party, but without internet access, Dean had little choice. He had to give Jody all the information he could.

"Well... he was pretty strung out when I found him-"

"I'm fine," Sam grumbled beside him, but made no move to lean away from him.

"Sam says he's fine, Jody." Dean repeated sarcastically.

"Of course he is." Dean could almost hear her rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. But her voice shook with genuine concern when she asked, "Seriously, how is he?"

Sam could faintly hear Jody's voice coming through the phone pressed up to his brother's ear. She sounded scared, and Sam felt bad for that. He shuddered again underneath the blanket, the icy chill that seemed to fill his veins ran so deep, he didn't think he'd ever be warm again. He ran his fingers gently over his wrists, feeling the deep scratches and cuts and the bruises that had been made by the... Dean said there hadn't been chains, Sam remembered through a haze of confusion.

Dean's eyes darted over to his shivering brother who had folded himself up almost impossibly small in the seat beside him and whose head was tucked back down so that his nose was underneath the blanket. "I don't... I don't know," he said, finally answering Jody's question.

"Ok, Dean. I'm on this," Jody said softly, suddenly radiating a confidence that Dean knew was just for his sake.

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, casting a sideward glance at Sam hoping he couldn't hear Jody.

"He's calmed down a bit for the moment, though, right?"

"Right."

"Good. Are you headed for the cabin? You need to get him somewhere safe for the night. Let him rest-"

"Well, I can't exactly make it back to the hotel with the roads like this. So... yeah. That's where we're headed." Dean grumbled, the frustration leaking out in his tone.

"Dean, that's a good move. Get him away from that place. Go to the cabin and rest. I've got this. I'm still working on locating this healer, but I'm making some good progress. I'll keep you posted."

Sam listened as best he could as he drifted in and out of sleep. Cabin...healer... _what_? He wanted to question Dean, but he couldn't even lift his head.

* * *

She slipped and swerved, but the Impala eventually made it down the gravel driveway to the door of the small garage just outside of The Den.

Sam sat forward then, suddenly alert as Dean put the car in park. "Where are we?"

"Some place safe," Dean reassured. He glanced over at Sam and patted his knee. "Sit tight, I'm gonna go get the key." He tried very hard to ignore the look of masked nervousness on Sam's face as he opened the door and started to get out of the car.

"I'll come wi-"

"No," Dean said insistently. "You stay here. Stay warm and I'll be right back, ok?"

"But-"

"Stay. Here."

Sam swallowed and nodded as Dean tucked the blanket more tightly around him. Then he quickly hopped out of the car and ran to the little shed on the other side of the driveway. The tall pine trees created a cavernous covering that kept the snow and wind a bit less relentless, but enough of the elements got through to make Dean wish he was wearing more layers.

The key was right where Jody said it would be. Dean pulled it from the hook on the wall and ran to the garage. He cast occasional glances at the Impala's windshield where he could see Sam watching him. He worked quickly, methodically: open the door, get in the car, park it in the garage, close the door, get Sam.

The cabin was not far from the garage, but Sam wasn't able to walk without assistance.

"Here, keep this around you, ok?" Dean said, wrapping the blanket securely around Sam's shoulders as Sam leaned into him, shivering. "All right, let's go. I've got you... Come on," he coaxed Sam away from the car.

Dean pushed open the door of the small cabin, carefully keeping his grip on Sam. His brother was listing heavily against him now, the effort to walk through the snow to the house had drained him. Dean flipped a light switch near the door and glanced around briefly. He noticed the sofa about the same time Sam did, as far as he could tell, because his brother suddenly found enough energy to push Dean in that direction.

"No, no, no... not yet, Sam," Dean murmured, guiding Sam forward instead towards the kitchen table. "I know you're tired, but we've got a few things to take care of first."

Sam whined softly. Dean could feel him shaking. He tried to remind himself that the shivering was a good thing. It meant Sam had not reached even moderate hypothermia yet, and that they could deal with.

"I know, I know... come on," he coaxed, pulling out one of the chairs for Sam. He eased him down carefully onto the seat, squatted down in front of him and patted his knee. "You stay right here, ok? I'll be right back," Dean instructed, and then in one swift motion he stood, locked the door and drew his gun. The cabin was small, an open floor plan with a loft. There weren't really all that many places that someone or something could be hiding, nor was there really even a reason that there would be any threat of danger here, but he didn't believe you could ever be too careful. He made his way around the room cautiously, checking cupboards, closets and even the occasional drawer. The kitchen was small, but efficient. Under the stairs to the loft was a locked door. Dean picked it quickly and entered a small, cluttered study area that appeared to be a catch-all sort of room that was probably supposed to be off limits to guests. Sam was slumped over at the kitchen table, head resting on his arms as he watched Dean, prepared to muster whatever strength he could to help if he was needed. He was surprised by the sudden intense and terrifying emptiness that over came him as he momentarily lost sight of his brother when Dean climbed up to inspect the loft.

"Dean?" he called after a moment, frustrated at the weakness of his voice.

" 's ok, Sammy, I'm right here. I'm coming down."

Sam breathed out a sigh as Dean appeared at the top of the stairs and started to descend back to the main floor. He performed one final sweep of the downstairs and ducked quickly into what Sam assumed was the bathroom. He heard water running and Dean emerged carrying a damp towel that he pressed up against the side of Sam's head where a small trickle of blood was making it's way down the side of his face.

Sam cringed, but didn't pull back. He wondered vaguely why the water was still running.

"Thought you said this was 'some place safe'. Why are you going all SWAT team on the place?"

"Just being careful. Hold that right there for me, 'k?" Dean said softly, taking Sam's hand and moving it up to the cloth as he knelt down and started unlacing Sam's boots.

Sam kicked weakly at him in annoyance. He was dying to get out of his wet clothes, but he _didn't need help_. "Cut it out... c'n do it myself!"

But Dean ignored him and Sam, in his exhaustion, uttered no further protests. As Dean slipped the second boot off of Sam's foot, he stood and motioned to Sam to do the same. "C'mon. I'm drawing you a bath, princess."

" _What_?" Sam tried to sound incredulous, but wasn't sure if he succeeded. "Dean, no-"

"Sam, we gotta get you cleaned up a bit before you lie down, and no way am I leaving you alone _standing_ in a shower."

Sam just stared at him, the fear mixing now with fury as he realized how very quickly he was becoming completely helpless.

"Sam," Dean sighed, he shoulders sagging. "C'mon. I'm not trying to piss you off. I'm not trying to be a jerk, here."

Sam's expression softened slightly.

Dean squatted down in front of the chair where Sam was sitting so he was looking up at him. He reached out and rubbed his hand up and down Sam's arm. "You're freezing, you're sick and you're a mess. Aren't you?" His voice was gentle but knowing.

Sam tried to stand his ground, tried his best to summon every ounce of stubbornness he had in him. But Dean was right. He was covered with blood and dirt, he was chilled to the bone and he felt awful. And he was scared- no he was _terrified_. For reasons he couldn't quite understand.

"Something's wrong and right now, we don't know what, but we're working on it. In the meantime, You need to get cleaned up and warm, I need to get a fire going and call Jody, and we need to figure this out so we can get you better. Ok? Please work with me here. You're gonna feel a lot better if you get all this dirt and blood and... whatever off of you before you lie down."

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't really argue. Even if he could, he just didn't have the strength. "Fine," he sighed finally, shaking his head, not looking forward to the prospect of standing up again.

"Good." Dean slapped his knees. He leaned forward and draped Sam's arm over his shoulder. He began to stand, slowly lifting Sam with him as he went. Sam tried unsuccessfully to stifle a pained whimper.

"I know, buddy, I know. Come on, you can do this," he coaxed gently as he led Sam towards the sound of the running water. "We're gonna get you feeling better soon. We got towels and soap and the tub's all filled up with flowery smelling bubbles. That way if you need help, I don't have to see anything I don't want to see and have to gouge my own eyes out later."

"Shut up." Sam growled.

Dean chuckled and readjusted his grip as Sam shivered violently. "C'mon, one step at a time, Sammy," he mumbled softly, his voice reverting back to concern.

Dean opened the bathroom door and tried to guide Sam forward. Sam took a few more faltering steps and stopped short.

Dean watched as an expression of confusion passed across Sam's face, and then fear as he suddenly tried to pull away from Dean's grasp.

"N-no... No!" Sam's eyes widened and he backed up into the corner. His glance darted from side to side and then pleadingly back to Dean, realizing he had no where to go.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa... easy, Sammy. Hey!" Dean let go of him and lifted his hands. "What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry...please don't-" Sam was shaking his head and staring at the open door.

"Sam, what are you talking about?" Dean asked, taking a careful step forward while still giving Sam a bit of distance.

Sam cringed then and squeezed his eyes shut. He was panting and rubbing his forehead.

Dean reached out tentatively and laid his hand on Sam's arm. "Sammy?" he whispered.

"I... mmm...Dean?" Sam slid down the wall and sank to the floor, his legs incapable of supporting his weight any longer.

"Sam! Hey-" Dean got down on his knees and took him by the shoulders. He ducked down to catch his gaze. "Sammy, I'm here. I'm here, ok?"

Sam swallowed and nodded.

"What the hell, dude?"

Sam shook his head, looking mildly nauseous. "I don't... I don't know."

Dean waited a moment to see if Sam would offer anything further. When he remained quiet, Dean sighed. "Can we get you back up? Come on..."

Sam groaned as Dean lifted him to his feet again.

"Ok. You're doing fine," he said as he guided Sam carefully back to the bathroom door, one arm across his back, one hand keeping him from toppling forward. _We're going to figure this out_ , Dean repeated over and over in his head. "Let's get you in there before we flood the joint."


	7. Chapter 7

Sam swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember exactly what it was that had filled him with such terror only a moment ago. Part of it was clear as day, a part he didn't want to think about again, and he hoped Dean wouldn't ask him. But part of it wasn't. Part of what had flashed through his mind he couldn't quite grasp, like a dream that danced just on the edge of his subconscious, flirting with memory, but never stepping close enough to be touched.

He let his brother hold him up, his arm warm and safe across Sam's back. Dean lead them into the bathroom where steam was rising out of a big white clawfoot tub, and fluffy, white towels were stacked in neat piles on a small shelf beside the sink. The rustic style of the main living area continued into the bathroom- lots of stone and wood and natural elements. A style that was beautiful, clean and inviting, and had most likely been created by a person whose idea of a nature walk was going from a detached garage to the house. The bathroom was cloaked in a comfortable darkness, deepened by the gray slate floor and the cedar walls. Dean had left all the lights off except a small lantern-like light fixture that was releasing a soft yellow glow on the wall above the tub. Sam felt the terror recede slightly. Even though Dean had mentioned the bubbles, Sam was surprised to see them. He tried to be annoyed, but he was so cold and so tired that he couldn't imagine anything in the world looking more inviting than that tub full of soapy, hot water. So instead of bitching, he opted for sarcasm. "Why didn't you light the candles?"

Dean stopped in mid stride, and Sam almost lost his balance at the sudden halt. "Dude, _that_ is the kind of dumb ass thing you always say that makes people think we're _gay_ ," he scolded, annoyed.

Bullseye. Sam let out a weak laugh.

Another few steps then and Dean eased him down on a chair that sat in the corner of the bathroom. He reached over and shut off the faucet and tested the temperature of the water in the tub. Satisfied, he turned to Sam. He was working on his poker face, but his brows were still knitted together in worry. "You doin' ok? Still with me?"

Sam nodded, avoiding Dean's gaze.

"All right, can you handle getting in the tub by your-"

Sam glared at him. "Get out."

Dean put up his hands. "Going. I'll go get your stuff out of the car and bring you some clean clothes. And I'd probably better give Jody an update. I'll be a couple minutes, tops. Ok?"

"Dean..." Sam closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Ok, ok." Dean said, backing away. He paused briefly on his way out and snickered as he pulled the lighter from his pocket, flicked it open and lit one of the candles.

"Dean!"

The door slammed shut and Sam was left alone. And the minute Dean left his sight, the fear crept up his chest, constricted his throat and stole his breath.

 _No!_ Sam thought angrily. _No. I am fine._ _This is all in my head._ He rubbed his eyes and took a breath, but the sound of the slamming door was ringing in his ears. He stared at the knob, willing himself to believe it would open if he needed it to. It _had_ to. The door locked from the inside. And there was no reason, even if it didn't, that Dean would have locked him in the room. But still, he had to know. His heart was pounding in his chest now as he shakily lifted himself out of the chair and made his way across the small space. He bit his lip as he reached for the door knob, and blew out his breath as it turned easily in his hand.

 _Of course it's open, you idiot_ , he thought, shaking his head as he leaned, panting, against the door. He took a moment to steady his breathing and then walked back over to the chair and sat down. He was oddly grateful to Dean for thinking to put a towel down to protect the fabric from his mud soaked jeans. _Who the hell keeps an upholstered chair in their bathroom,_ he wondered, trying to distract his thoughts from wandering back into the darkness. He concentrated for a moment on the swirling patterns of the steam rising up in complicated spirals from the tub. He looked at the flickering candle reflection in the dark window and watched the occasional burst of snow exploding up against the panes of glass.

Finally, he was able to push back the fear and gather his strength. He was relieved that Dean had had the foresight to get his boots off beforehand because the energy it took to get the rest of his wet clothes off was unbelievable. He bit down to stop his teeth from chattering as he peeled off his soaked t-shirt. He barely had the strength to climb into the tub when he was finally finished getting undressed. Fortunately, the need to get warm coupled with the knowledge that it was do it alone or ask Dean for help was good incentive to muster just enough energy. He took a few deep breaths and then slowly and carefully he got up and lowered himself into the bathtub. And for a moment, all of his problems disappeared in a steam-filled cloud of pure bliss. He was finally, _finally_ warm. His tense muscles loosened and he started feeling cleaner. He was torn between the desire to really scrub the grime off of his body and the exhaustion that beckoned him to just lie back and soak. He finally decided, more out of necessity than anything else, to just relax for a moment. He leaned back and returned his gaze to the window where steam now obscured most of his view of the snow. He could still hear the howling wind though, and he wondered how Dean could stand to go back out in this.

In the quiet solitude of the little room, he thought about Dean outside in the snow, Dean going out to get dry clothes for him so he wouldn't have to, Dean unlocking the trunk of the car... but then walking up front and sitting in the driver's seat... starting the engine...

The room, which only moments ago had seemed warm and inviting, slowly grew unsettlingly still. The dread crept back in like a thick, dark ooze, leaking in and filling his every thought.

How long had Dean been gone? He'd said he would be only a couple minutes. Was he still out there? Had he decided to leave? Was that door locked even though he'd checked it moments ago?

And then a strange thought, or perhaps more of a voice crept into his head, "...gonna lock you up...and leave you all alone..."

Sam swallowed. Is this what it feels like, he wondered, to be going crazy? But something inside was becoming convinced that Dean had left him.

The gears turning in Sam's mind ground to a sudden, albeit brief halt then. This was _ridiculous_. Beyond ridiculous for more reasons than just the obvious one that Dean _couldn't_ leave. Somehow, even though Sam knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything causing his panic right now was absurd, he couldn't shake the feeling of terror and despair that it had possibly happened. The longer he sat there, the more certain he became that he was truly alone and trapped. Dean had locked the door and left him. The door across the room stood taunting him again... a tall, impenetrable, metal door, locked on the other side-

And then all around him, a stillness hung in the air, as though quiet were something that could be felt. The chill ran through his bones and he heard a voice whispering from what seemed like all around him.

Sam jerked his head to one side and then the other, but there was no direction from which the voice was coming from.

"He's not coming back... Why would he? After what you did...He's the one who threw away the key..."

Sam ran the cold water for a moment and splashed some on his face. He looked back across the room at the simple wooden door with the fluffy, white terry cloth robe hanging from a hook near the top. It was _not locked_. Sam had checked. But oh, how he wished he'd just left the door ajar.

By the time Dean knocked on the door, Sam was only too relieved to invite him to come in.

"I'll just leave these here for you," Dean said, setting an armful of clothes on the edge of the sink. "And I know, I know- you can do it all yourself, but if you need-" he stopped then, noticing Sam's expression. The color had drained from his face and his eyes were wide and pleading, almost desperate looking. His breathing was off. It was rapid, almost panting. He was clutching the edge of the bathtub with a white-knuckled death grip.

"Sammy? You ok?" Even as the words left his mouth, Dean knew he was not at all ok..

Sam's expression didn't change as he tried and failed to answer his brother's question. Dean could practically see the words "I'm fine" sitting there on Sam's lips, but Sam couldn't get himself to actually say them. All he could get out was a soft little sound of distress as he swallowed back what fear he could.

"Hey," Dean stepped closer and knelt down beside the tub.

Sam looked away, ashamed and afraid, the tears on the verge of tumbling over the edges of his eye lids. He knew he needed to pull himself together, but he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his fingers around Dean's wrist, desperate to communicate to his brother that he needed him here. _Please don't leave me!_

"Hey-hey-hey, c'mon, I'm here, I'm right here- oh, Sam...what's all this, huh?" Dean asked softly gripping the back of Sam's neck. "Sammy? Look at me." He took Sam's chin gently with his other hand, but didn't force anything.

Sam turned his head back towards Dean, but kept his eyes down cast.

"What's wrong?" Dean was murmuring questions he didn't really expect answers to, just to be saying something... just to let Sam hear his voice. He moved his hand to the side of Sam's face, pushing back the hair falling into his eyes with the other, and waiting patiently for Sam to calm down. "I'm here, buddy... Getting bad again, huh?"

Sam just nodded sullenly.

"Ok, ok... we'll take this as it comes, right? So, let's just settle down a little, ok? Take a couple deep breaths..." Dean had found a washcloth within reach and he dipped it into the water. "Let's get some more of this stuff off of your face. C'mon, look this way for a minute," he said when Sam looked away from him again.

Even with the desperate need to have Dean close by, Sam wanted to glower at him because part of him just felt so completely mortified. But the gentle tone of his brother's voice brought almost instant calm, and the warm, damp cloth against his face felt so good. Much to his own dismay, he felt himself pressing into it, trying to get closer to the warmth rather than pulling away. He wanted to be angry, but he could tell Dean was making an effort _not_ to make him feel any more vulnerable than he already was. Warm water trickled down the side of his face, tiny bubbles made a soft crackling sound as they popped, and familiar, comforting hands wiped away tears and dirt from his eyes.

"Yeah... that's better, huh?" Dean whispered soothingly, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched his little brother's eyelids droop.

And then for some reason, even though the fear was receding, being replaced slowly and steadily by the comfort of his brother's voice, the minute he made eye contact with Dean, the tears just started up again. Whether it was out of relief, embarrassment or just some psychosomatic side effect of whatever was happening to him, Sam wasn't sure. He was flooded with emotions that he couldn't sort out. He turned his head back down, narrowly missing getting a face full of the bubbles which still filled the tub, blanketing him to the point of spilling over the side.

But he hadn't turned away in time for Dean to miss the sudden welling in his eyes.

"Dude, hey..." Dean whispered as moved his hand back up to the back of Sam's neck. "Sammy, it's all right, buddy. We're gonna figure this out, you know that, right? It's ok... c'mon, talk to me. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours... let me help." Dean's voice was quiet and calm, steadying him.

Sam swallowed back a sob.

Dean wet the cloth again and wiped it over Sam's eyes and across his forehead. Sam was shaking again and with the temperature of the water, Dean was quite certain it wasn't from cold. "It's ok," he kept whispering. "I'm here."

"S-sorry, 'm sorry, Dean..." Sam whispered, sniffing back tears.

"Sam..." Dean did his best to steady his voice again. Sam was slipping back into whatever state of confusion he'd been in when Dean had found him in the forest. "Sammy, you didn't do anything wrong, ok? You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"..s.s..orry..."

"Stop," Dean whispered gently. He kept pushing back the hair from Sam's forehead and Sam's eyes drooped a bit as he leaned into his brother's touch. And then his eyes closed tightly for a moment, squeezing tears out as he let out a shaky breath. "I don't want you to..."

"What, buddy? You don't want me to what?" Dean cupped Sam's face in his hands and thumbed a tear off his cheek.

"Don't want you... to leave...m-me..."

"Oh, kiddo... You're all kinds of mixed up, aren't you?" Dean whispered sadly. Deciding to forgo asking permission, he reached for the bottle of shampoo and poured some into his palm. "I promise I'm not going to leave. I promise. I'm gonna stay right here with you, ok? You know that. We're gonna get you all cleaned up and then we're gonna go sit by the fireplace, ok? Get you under some nice, warm blankets and let you get some rest. And I'll be right there..." He gently rubbed the shampoo into Sam's hair, scrubbing out the blood and dirt.

Sam nodded, fighting to keep his eyes open as strong but gentle hands massaged his scalp.

Dean sighed a little as he watched Sam's eyelids getting heavy. "Don't fall asleep here, buddy. We gotta get you dried off first. Let's get this crap out of your hair... here, close your eyes, ok?" There was a small porcelain pitcher on a shelf above the tub. Dean turned on the water to fill it and poured it over Sam's head as he shielded his eyes. "There... one more time... ok. I think you're good."

Sam leaned back and rested his head against the edge of the tub. He pushed his hair back and rubbed his eyes. Dean was scared. Sam could tell. The usual cocky, smart-ass comments that he would make when he was on edge or nervous weren't coming out of his mouth. He was not just "on edge" now. He was full on afraid, which did little to ease Sam's own tension.

Dean grabbed hold of his hand then and pulled it to the side of the tub. "Let me take a look at those bruises..."

Sam knew his reaction to this should be annoyance- pull his hand away and make some snarky remark telling Dean to look at his own wrists or something. But there was nothing in him that wanted to react like that. It seemed neither one of them could quite muster the usual Winchester sass at the moment.

Dean was studying Sam's wrists closely and looking rather concerned. "Huh... maybe it was just dirt... those marks are gone."

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise, but couldn't find the energy to pull his hand away from Dean to examine it for himself.

"I mean, the cuts are still there, but the bruising..." Dean mumbled, running his thumb gently across Sam's wrist. "It's totally gone."

Dean let go of him then, still looking perplexed.

Sam gazed sleepily at him.

Dean sighed and pushed a few stray strands of wet bangs off Sam's forehead. "You look like you're gonna fall asleep. You wanna soak a little more or are you ready to get dried off?"

Sam looked away from him and Dean recognized the look of embarrassment and shame written all over his face.

"What? You're not feeling all weird about this whole tub thing, are you?"

"Aren't you?" Sam shot back at him, sullenly.

"No, I'm not," Dean stated matter-of-factly. "Haven't we been through enough where this should be no big deal?"

Sam just stared at the bubbles. They both knew damn well that if the situation were reversed, Dean would have already drown himself in the bathtub rather than face this kind of humiliation. But, as much as Sam disliked the situation, Dean had a point. Considering everything Sam had experienced, this was really no more than a mildly embarrassing annoyance. He was more concerned at the moment with his erratic and uncontrollable emotional state. "It's not just that. I just...don't feel right."

"I know. We'll figure it out, ok?"

Sam just kept his head down and wouldn't look at him. Dean knew he would never get Sam to open up about what he was going through while he was sitting in a bathtub feeling awkward. And he needed to get the details or they might _not_ figure this out.

Dean scooped up a handful of bubbles and put them on Sam's nose.

That got his attention. Sam scowled and splashed him.

Dean grinned. "There's the bitchface we've all come to know and love." He wiped the water off his face with the back of his sleeve and leaned on the edge of the tub. "Listen. You've had everything under the sun happen to you and still come out swingin'. This is not going to be the thing that takes you down, you hear me?"

Sam looked at him then. And gained just a shred of confidence that maybe...

"I know you like your independence, but you might have to let me help you through this a little bit, ok? I know you hate that, but-"

Sam's eyes softened a bit as he leaned back and laid his head against the tub. "I don't hate it."

"Right." Dean looked skeptical. Then he frowned, eyes narrowing. "Crap. There's still soap in that rat's nest you call hair. You gonna let me rinse that out, or are you back in DIY mode?"

Sam gave him a look, then closed his eyes and slid down under the water, scrubbed his hair a bit and popped back up.

"Ok, then," Dean said. "I'm going to go get the fire going and let you finish up." He pointed at the small table beside the tub. "Towel, clothes, you need anything else?"

"No, I'm good."

"Ok. I'll be right outside the door if you need anything. You _call me_ if you need to, got it? No falling."

Sam continued to scowl at him as he left the room. But Dean kept talking from the other side of the closed door as Sam very carefully got out of the tub and dried off. Sam knew exactly what Dean was doing, and he was grateful. Dean went on about meaningless stuff, mostly things that didn't require Sam's input- how big the fireplace was, how much food was in the fridge, how when this was all over he was going to find some hot waitress in town, bring her back here and-

"Dean,"

There was a slight pause as Dean tried to process Sam's tone of voice. He'd been expecting disgusted annoyance so it actually took him a second to register distress.

Dean found him mostly dressed, sitting in the chair and leaning heavily on the side of the tub.

"Ok," Dean said softly. "Let get the rest of these clothes on and get you under some blankets. Sound good?"

Sam just breathed a heavy sigh as Dean pulled his shirt on over his head and maneuvered his arms through the sleeves.

Dean kept his voice neutral, even though tension and fear was building inside him. It was time to get his brother comfortable and press him for every detail he could get. It was time to get this figured out.


	8. Chapter 8

*** So very sorry for this long delay. Life has thrown a number of curve balls and writing has had to take a back seat for a little while. Getting back on my feet now, hopefully! Thanks so much for reading!***

Things were not going at all as he'd planned and somehow, he found it surprising even though he always claimed it was to be expected. There was no internet service. He'd set up Sam's laptop while Sam had been in the bathtub, and he'd tried repeatedly to access a search engine to try to start figuring this whole mess out. He just couldn't establish a connection. And that was going to be a problem. The one thing that had gone right so far was the cell phone, while a bit spotty, seemed to be working well enough if he stood in the right spot. And from his brief contacts with Jody, he knew that at least she was working on things.

He had salted the windows and doors and brought a few assorted weapons in from the trunk. He had also discovered, much to his immense relief, that the couch pulled out into a bed. The way Sam had been wobbling around like a drunken baby giraffe, Dean had been dreading trying to maneuver him up the staircase to the loft.

He'd found the small linen closet outside the bathroom. It contained towels and toiletries, a set of warm flannel sheets, some fluffy pillows and a thick, soft blanket.

Sam was sitting in the arm chair, watching in tired amusement as Dean "feathered the nest". It was all he could think of, but he didn't dare say it out loud. He'd put aside his annoyance over his own helplessness for the time being and decided, for the sake of the case, to go along with Dean's request and try to explain what he was feeling.

"I'm fine one minute, sort of… and then all of a sudden I can barely breathe. I feel feverish and sick and I'm so-" Sam closed his eyes, loathe to admit what he was about to. "...scared _,_ like _really_ _terrified_. Some of it I don't really remember. Some of it's all this blur of stuff that doesn't make any sense, but some of it is this fear of... you leaving. It's ridiculous. I mean, where exactly are you going to go? We're kind of stuck here. "

"Well, yeah, but even if we weren't, you know I'm not going to go off and leave you by yourself, right?" Dean stopped tucking the sheets into the side of the pull-out bed for a moment and looked at Sam. "I'd never do that."

Sam couldn't help but notice he looked almost hurt by the idea that Sam thought he might leave.

"It's more than that, though," Sam continued, his voice hesitant. "It's like I'm… _overcome_ by this idea that you're going to... lock me up, and then leave."

"What?"

"I- I know, it's crazy. And..."

There was more. And the next part was going to be even more concerning, Dean could tell. "And what, Sammy?" He kept working at making the bed hoping, Sam would just keep talking. Dean was well aware that the only reason Sam was telling him about what he was going through was because other people were going to get hurt if he didn't.

"I'm... hearing voices."

To Dean's credit, he kept his game face on and simply asked, "Saying?"

Sam sighed and told him what he'd heard... or imagined he'd heard.

"So, ghost then? I mean, sounds like Wilson. He locked up the Navajo kid." Dean gave the blanket a quick flip and a shake and let it settle over the sheets. "We must have missed something."

Game face or no, Sam could hear the mounting panic.

"I don't know, Dean... there are no EMF readings, no cold spots-"

"Ok, well..." Dean hesitated. "I know it doesn't quite fit the bill, but maybe..."

"Possession? Believe me, I thought of that." Sam stood with some difficulty, walked over to the window where Dean had laid out a salt line and brushed some of it into his hand. "Nothing." He held out his palm full of salt to Dean and shrugged before carefully putting it back on the window sill.

"Damn it. I mean," Dean stammered a bit. "Good that you're not possessed, but-"

Sam just nodded again, but wouldn't look at him.

"What else?" Dean asked, clearly not ready to give up. "You keep telling me you're sorry and that doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense right now, unless you did something I don't know about."

Sam dropped his gaze then and clenched his jaw.

"Sam, what? Did you do something?"

Sam shook his head. "No. It's a… a memory." He looked a bit guilty then. "I get confused, thinking it's actually happening again. I keep flashing back to..."

Dean waited.

Sam's voice was low as he hid behind a lock of hair that had fallen across his face. "I keep remembering the panic room. Bobby's panic room-"

"And how I locked you in there."

Sam nodded, head down. Dean couldn't see his face, but he could feel the shame almost radiating from Sam's posture. "...and left you. Sammy-"

Sam's head shot up then. "No. Dean, no. Don't apologize. I know why you did it- why you _had_ to do it."

"Sam... Do you know how much it killed me to walk away from that door while you were screaming for help? The only reason I left..." Dean's voice trailed off and then he swallowed hard.

"Was so you wouldn't let me out."

Dean's eyes closed as he tried to block out the memory of Sam begging him for help as he forced himself to walk away from his brother. It had absolutely ripped him apart.

But Sam didn't give him time then to wallow in guilt. He let out a muffled groan, swayed and gripped the window frame as Dean jumped to his feet.

"Sam, ok. Look, I think you need to lie down for a bit, what do you say?" He slid his hands beneath Sam's elbows and just barely stopped him from toppling over.

The fact that Sam didn't argue spoke volumes.

"Yeah, I thought so," Dean murmured, guiding his brother to the couch. "C'mon, got the bed all ready for you… nice and warm. Easy, there..." He lifted the blankets and lowered Sam to the mattress. "There you go."

Sam slid beneath the covers without a word, eyes closing, breath labored. But he didn't let go of Dean's shirtsleeve that he'd been clutching to steady himself.

"Sam?"

Sam opened his eyes and tried to anchor his gaze on Dean.

"Is it happening right now? Feeling sick and really scared?"

Sam nodded, his fingers digging deeper into Dean's shirt sleeve, tears welling along the rims of his eyes.

Dean clamped his hand over Sam's and pressed the other one to Sam's chest. "Sam-hey! Hey, we're all right, ok?" Dean's voice was a gravely whisper of thinly disguised fear. "We're safe- we're in the cabin, all right? I'm right here, not gonna leave you, ok? Come on..."

Sam swallowed and concentrated on the pressure of Dean's hand rubbing back and forth on his chest.

"Nothin' to worry about. Deep breaths… I promise, I'm not going anywhere, buddy. You're okay, just breathe."

Finally Sam nodded and let go of Dean's arm. He settled back against the pillow, and his eyelids drooped in exhaustion.

"There you go..." Dean soothed, pushing Sam's hair off his forehead. "Just relax. You're all right. I'm here.

Dean watched him, his hand on Sam's chest until the breathing steadied and his heartbeat slowed. Dean's own heart was racing a bit as he chewed nervously at his lower lip. His worry for Sam was growing, but so was a thought in the back of his mind. Pieces of a puzzle were moving into place and forming a clearer picture.

Was it possible?

 _First you get anxious. Then scared._

 _Then really scared…._

 _Sound familiar?_


	9. Chapter 9

He was racking his brain trying to remember, sorting through bits and pieces of information he'd mentally filed away dozens- _hundreds_ -of cases ago.

Ghost sickness.

It had to be. But how? And more importantly, _how long_? Because one detail he was very clear on was the 24 hours time limit. They were trapped here. There would never be enough time to save him.

Dean looked over at Sam, asleep on the sofa bed. It took a lot for Dean to get panicky over much of anything these days, but this had the potential.

No, Dean thought stubbornly. And then aloud, but almost inaudibly he whispered, "We're gonna figure this out, Sammy." Dean had had his doubts and concerns when Sam had started the trials, but when Sam had asked him with those pleading eyes to believe in him, well, that was all it took. He would have that kid's back come hell or high water like he always did, and this would NOT be the thing that brought Sam down. Standing as quietly as he could so as not to disturb his finally sleeping brother, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Jody. He sneaked off to the kitchen as it rang.

"Ghost sickness," Dean whispered as Jody picked up. "I need you to check on that for me. Could that be what he has?"

"As a matter of fact," Jody replied sounding so much like Sam when he was mildly distracted, absorbed in the depth of some research, "it's at the top of my list right now. I'm right in the middle of an article."

A bit of relief washed over Dean as he exhaled, "Really?"

"Yep. Came across that one a little while ago and it kind of fits the bill for every victim."

"Ok, but which ghost?"

"Best I can tell, the little boy."

"Shilah? But wait- wait… there's no evidence at all that there's an actual ghost involved here. If this is a..." Dean wracked his brain to remember the thing that had caused the illness before. "Buru buru? I think that's what it was called- why isn't there-"

"No- Bobby told me about that a long time ago...about what happened to you, so I checked and no. This is a different kind of ghost sickness, specific to the Navajos. It's more like a… like a curse or a illness rather than an actual ghost causing the problem, but no more pleasant than what you went through. Possibly worse."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's basically seeing and feeling Shilah's memories. Shilah was kidnapped, held hostage and ultimately perished due to what I'm assuming we're chalking up to exposure, stress or pneumonia, or a combination of all three. He died sick and afraid and…" Jody stopped mid sentence, not wanting to continue.

"And _what_? Don't start sugar coating it now!" Dean said, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly.

Jody sighed apologetically. "And without his brother."

Abandoned. By the one he loved and trusted the most.

Panic gripped him then and he lowered his voice as best he could. "Jody, I had twenty four hours!"

"No, I told you. This is different. He has longer than 24 hours. Granted, not as much longer as we'd like, but it gives us a fighting chance."

"A chance to what? How do we stop this?"

"Well, I'm working on that. The first thing I did was track down the boy that survived this. I talked to his mother. She wouldn't say what it was that he had or tell me much of anything, really. The minute I mentioned ghost sickness, she just about hung up the phone on me. She finally gave me the name and contact information for the healer they used and then told me not to call again, not in so many words. The healer's name is Nabahe, but I've been talking to his grandson, Jeremy. As far as I can tell, a healer really is the only way out of this mess. Most Navajos reservations are a long way from here, but there are a couple Navajo communities around this area. From what I can tell, most of them are descendants of the people who worked for John Wilson at his hotel back when it opened."

Dean could tell she was trying to sound confident for his sake. There was something she wasn't telling him. "What's the glitch in your plan?"

There was a pause. "Well, he's... reluctant to help. This ghost sickness is a pretty big deal, and most Navajos won't even talk about it. I haven't actually gotten him on the phone yet. His grandson seems pretty reasonable, though. Don't worry, Dean. I'll get him to your brother. We're gonna help Sam."

"What do I do for him in the mean time?"

"Just keep him calm. Keep him warm. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Take care of Sam.

Dean considered this as he ended the call. For the first time in decades, it was literally his only job. There was really nothing else he could do here. No monsters to hunt, no research to do… just watch out for Sammy.

He shuddered. Why was it so cold all of a sudden? The kitchen was colder without the fireplace, but this...

Dean stood from the table and headed to the main room intending to grab the shotgun he'd brought in from the car, but he was greeted with a sight that was far more horrifying to him than a ghost.

The bed was empty and the front door was wide open.

"Literally my only job… Son of a BITCH!" Dean cursed as he ran for the door. "SAM!"

Fortunately, either cold or exhaustion had kept Sam from getting very far. Dean could just make out a form hunched over in the snow and reaching for the door of the old stone shed where the key had been. Dean threw his boots on and ran out into the cold. "Sammy?"

Sam gasped, his eyes wide as Dean approached, and pressed himself up against the wall of the shed like he was trying to hide.

"What are you doing? Sam, we've got to get you back inside!" Dean yelled over the wind.

"No!" Sam crawled backwards, breathless as Dean moved towards him.

Dean stopped, but kept his voice firm. "Sam, snap out of it! Dude, you gotta fight this right now because I am going to have to drag your ass back inside one way or another."

Sam dropped his gaze then, and Dean did not like the look of defeat that passed over his features, but he could tell he wasn't going to get much more resistance for the moment. He moved forward and took Sam by the arms and started helping him up, but Sam doubled over and cried out in pain, his hands around his middle.

"Sammy?"

Sam held out one of his hands and looked at it. There was a smear of blood across his palm.

"Sam, what the hell happened?" Dean asked reaching for the hem of Sam's shirt. Sam slammed up against the wall again.

"N-no! Don't-"

Dean put his hands up again and leaned back slightly.

"Hurts..." Sam panted.

"I know, I know it does… I want to help," Dean tried to be patient, tried to remember the ghost sickness was making his brother terrified. "Can you let me take a look?"

Sam stared at him a moment and then nodded, hesitantly.

"Ok. I'm just going to lift up your shirt and take a look, ok?" Dean moved with slow and deliberate motions. He put both hands carefully on Sam's belly and took hold of the hem of his t-shirt. He swore when he lifted it up and revealed several deep gashes across his brother's middle. "Sam, how did this happen?"

Sam was panting, his eyes darting wildly around as though he was expecting someone or something to appear.

"Sammy, hey! Focus, man. Eyes on me," Dean demanded and took him by the chin. "These cuts- how did you get them?"

"C-cuts?" Sam glanced down, looking confused for a moment. "The… the glass… had to crawl out of the… broken window..."

Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, Dean could see he wasn't sure if what he was saying was real. His voice trailed off and his eyes grew more focused on Dean's face.

"Listen to me," Dean clenched his chattering teeth as he pulled off his flannel and wrapped it around Sam. "We are at Jody's cabin. There's no broken window. You came right out that front door," he said, pointing behind them. He was having a really hard time keeping calm now.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know what's happening to me-"

"Well, I think I do, but I'm not going to talk about it out here while we freeze our asses off! Come on," he said and hoisted Sam up by his arms.

Sam shuddered and leaned wearily on his brother as they made their way back to the cabin.

As they neared the door, he felt Sam tense.

"Dean… please…. I'm sorry, please-"

"Sammy, it's just the cabin, buddy. Come on. We're gonna go inside and warm you up, clean up those cuts..."

Sam seemed to almost crumple in his grasp as he allowed Dean to lead him through the door. Dean eased him into the same chair he'd used the first time they'd gone in. But the minute Dean let go of him, he jumped up and hurried to the farthest corner of the room where he pressed himself up against the wall, shivering and quietly sobbing into his knees.

Dean didn't chase after him, just kept a close eye on him as he gathered dry socks from Sam's duffel bag and a blanket. Finally, after a few moments, he slowly made his way to where his brother sat, fighting the desperate need to run to Sam every step of the way. He could see him shivering from halfway across the room. He slowed his steps even further as he got within about ten feet of him. He kept his voice low and soft as he asked, "Sammy, can we get some dry socks on you?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered. "Please...don't-" he gasped out.

"Ok," Dean whispered and put up his hands. He took a careful step back. "Ok. Not gonna come any closer till you want me to. It's just me, Sam."

"He's coming," Sam whispered, his voice laced with panic and his eyes suddenly opened wide.

"Who?"

"I don't want him to find me-"

"You mean Wilson?"

Sam's eyes slammed closed again, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

"Dean..." Sam was panting and his face glistened with tears.

"Yeah... it's me, I'm still here."

Sam met his gaze then and Dean caught the expression of recognition. He hurried forward and dropped to his knees. Sam fell into his arms and clung to the front of his shirt.

"Dean... don't...please... don't leave me," Sam was taking a breath between almost every word.

"Hey, shhh… ok. It's all right," Dean whispered as he wrapped his arms protectively around him. Sam buried his face in Dean's shoulder, shivering. His hair was still a bit damp from the bath which probably wasn't helping with the cold. Dean clenched he jaw and swallowed back the sorrow, knowing what Sam was remembering. and kept his voice calm and low. "I'm not going anywhere-"

"Don't leave me in there again-"

If Dean didn't think the knife of guilt could be driven in any deeper… "Sammy, easy, buddy. We're safe, ok? Not in the panic room. We're in the cabin, remember? And I'm not leaving. We're gonna stay together. I'm not gonna leave you."

Sam swallowed and almost choked on his next intake of breath. "I'm s-sorry..."

"Sam… you didn't do anything wrong, ok?"

The wind let out a sudden powerful gust that shook the cabin.

Sam tensed and dug his fingers into Dean's shirt. " _Dean!_ "

"Shhh- shh...Ok, ok, kiddo. I'm here. Relax..." Dean held on and rubbed Sam's back. "We're ok, it's just wind."

But Sam was shaking and sucking in air through tears.

"Sammy... come on, little brother. You know I'm not gonna let anything hurt you. We need to take it down a notch, ok? Let's breathe and try to relax. Come on…." Dean slowed his speech and lowered his voice with great effort. "Are you with me?"

Sam took a few more breaths and then nodded. "Yeah, I… yeah. I'm ok. I think." He pushed back from Dean and tipped his head back against the wall, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "What's happening to me?"

Dean yanked the wet socks off and quickly replaced them. He decided the rest of Sam's clothes would stay. They were a bit damp, but not too bad. "Come on back to bed and we'll talk. Let's get you under some blankets." Dean stood and reached out a hand to Sam who took it, not meeting his eyes. "I talked to Jody and I think we've figured out what's happening with you."

"You did?" Sam asked almost eagerly as he slid back under the covers.

Dean grabbed the first aid kit that he'd brought in from the car and sat down on the edge of the pull out bed. "Yeah," he said as he pulled the covers down and carefully lifted the edge of Sam's shirt. "You've got-" he stopped suddenly, shocked as ran his fingers over Sam's belly. "You've got no cuts!"


	10. Chapter 10

"No cuts at all- no sign of them!"

Sam looked down, slightly confused, his voice still quiet and unsure. "Oh, I… I thought I'd imagined that. You said..." his voice trailed off.

Dean shook his head, still staring at the spot on Sam's belly that only minutes ago he'd seen covered with blood. The stains on his shirt were still there, but there wasn't a scratch on him.

Dean pulled his shirt back down and ran a hand over his face. "Ok. This is normal."

"What do you think-"

Dean shook his head again. "No clue."

"So...what do I have?" Sam asked.

"What?" Dean asked, still distracted by the mysterious disappearance of Sam's cuts.

"You said you know what's wrong with me."

"Oh- uh, right..." Dean brought his gaze up to Sam's face, noting with concern how exhausted and disheveled he looked. He reached out absently and brushed some of Sam's damp hair back into place. He was rewarded with a swatting hand from an appropriately annoyed little brother. Dean sighed, slightly relieved by the sudden, but brief return of a bit of Sam's spirit. "We think you have ghost sickness."

" _What_?"

"Yeah, not the kind I had, though," Dean hurried to explain when he saw the look of fear cross Sam's face. "You got the Navajo kind- it's different. You got a lot longer than 24 hours."

"A lot?"

"Well… more."

Sam didn't look reassured.

"Hey," Dean said, gripping his shoulder. "We're gonna figure this out, ok? Jody's already on her way to get a healer-"

"A healer?" Sam's eyebrows rose.

"Yeah, a... medicine man. Shaman. Whatever they're called. Far as she can tell, that's our best bet. He already helped one kid, so I think it's worth a shot. Now listen, you've been… I don't know, spacing out on me every once in a while. Not recognizing me. You remember anything about that? "

Sam shook his head, leaning back against the pillow. His eyelids drooped. "N-no. Not really. I mean, other than being freaking terrified."

"Ok, but why are you terrified? What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know." Sam was looking mildly embarrassed now and Dean sensed he was on the verge of shutting down.

"Sam," he said gently. "I know you don't really want to have a caring and sharing session about your feelings, but right now, the only information I have to go on is whatever you tell me. Jody's doing the best she can, but any information we can give her would probably help."

Sam bit his lip and sighed, closing his eyes. "Ok...I know. I just… I really don't remember all that much. When you found me in the woods, I was really surprised to see you. Like _really_ surprised. I mean, you rescue me all the time and I'm always relieved, but never surprised that you came."

"So, you mean surprised like you were thinking I wouldn't bother to come find you?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know how else to explain it. And, I remember..." Sam's eyebrows knitted together, thinking. "having trouble breathing."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, you kept saying that. Jody thinks you're reliving Shialah's memories and we're thinking it's pretty likely he died of pneumonia or an infection, exposure, or a combination of a whole bunch of crap."

"So, all this stuff that keeps showing up and then disappearing," Sam waved his hand over his blood stained shirt. "That's stuff that happened to him?"

"Probably."

"And when you get me to believe that it's not really happening to me-"

"Then it goes away," Dean's eyes widen slightly and he nods. "Like the bruises, and the breathing and now the cuts. As long as I can keep convincing you that _this_ is your reality… then maybe we're good?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well, then I guess that's what we'll do till Jody gets here." Dean breathed out a sigh. "You hungry? Actually, forget I asked. You- _we_ -haven't eaten for hours, so the answer is yes. I'm going to go check out the kitchen and see what I can find. You good for a minute?"

Sam forced a scowl and rolled his eyes. "Of course," was what he said. 'Hell no' was what he thought.

Dean patted his knee and wandered into the kitchen where he gave Sam a rundown of the contents of each cupboard.

The wind screamed outside. Sam huddled under the blankets and counted his breaths. He watched the flames dancing in the fireplace and listened to his brother's voice rattling off a grocery list of items as exhaustion settled in and his eye lids got heavy. Dean was just in the kitchen. He was 20 feet away, if that. But Sam could feel the fever starting to burn and the air getting harder to take in. He tried to focus, tried to remember what Dean had said, that his reality was not full of pain and sickness. Reality was here, in the warm, clean cabin with his brother just in the next room fixing them something to eat.

But… his brother was… gone. And he was alone. Wasn't he? Sam tried hard to focus, but other thoughts, other memories that weren't his own kept creeping in Yes... he was alone. He was certain of it.

And there was the pain. The pain he hadn't told Dean about. The pain that didn't go away when everything else did. It had been slowly building since this whole thing began. It had started as a headache, then it grew into a full body ache, like all his muscles where tying themselves in knots. He hadn't told Dean because he was sure it would just go away or at least not get any worse. But now the pain was immense. And now he couldn't tell him because Dean was gone. Not that Dean would care. Dean was the one who had locked him in here to begin with. Dean had left him and he wasn't coming to get him. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he tried to shake off the thoughts that only moments ago weren't true. But the images and feelings just grew stronger. His brother was gone. He was alone… wait, _no!_ Sam realized with sudden horror that no, he was not alone. There was that man. The one that would come and make sure he couldn't get away. The one who might hurt him again-

Sam startled when he felt hands on his shoulders and realized he must've dozed off.

"Sammy?" Dean was there suddenly, hovering over him. His worried voice washed through Sam like a breath of air he hadn't been able to quite take in. "What's going on, kiddo? You dreaming? Your heart's goin' a mile a minute," Dean said, pressing a hand up to Sam's chest. "You need to calm down."

Dean… Sam squeezed his eyes shut and cleared his mind as best he could. He tried to let out his breath, but his relief was short lived. The pain was still there. Sam swallowed hard and shoved it down, masking the agony he knew would be written all over his face if he didn't get it together. But while he could hide the fact that he was in pain, he couldn't seem to get control of the fear. He was surprised when he tried to speak and only a desperate, soft sound of distress passed through his lips. He reached out and clung to Dean's shirt sleeve.

"Hey, I'm right here, bud," he whispered, closing his hand over Sam's. Dean was sitting up against his side and leaning over him so he was the only thing in Sam's line of sight, like a mother bird with wings folding over her young. Sam almost laughed at the thought, but instead he took a deep breath and tried to speak again. "How… how long was I asleep?"

"You were out cold a couple hours. I was gonna wake you up and feed you but-"

The image of the mother bird again finally forced a weak chuckle out of Sam. He knew the hovering should annoy him, but right now he welcomed it.

Dean frowned. "What?"

Sam shook his head. "N-nothing. I just… would have guessed a few minutes."

"Yeah, well, you'd be wrong. Stay put, I've got some dinner for you."

The minute he moved to stand up, Sam tightened his grip on Dean's sleeve.

Dean sat back down. "Dude. I'm just going to the kitchen. Ok?"

Sam dropped his gaze, embarrassed and let go of Dean's arm. When he finally chanced a look at his brother's face, he saw only gentle concern.

"I'll be right back… just going to heat up some food for you. I made you something good, ok?" Dean stood slowly and drew the covers up over Sam's shoulders.

Sam bit back a groan as he laid his head back on the pillow. He tried to focus on the smell of clean blankets, the warmth of the hand pressed reassuringly up against his chest.

"Relax, but don't fall asleep on me this time, ok? Because I will wake your ass up, got it?"

And then the warmth was gone and the pain intensified. Sam watched as Dean walked back into the kitchen and put something in the microwave. Then he saw Dean reach in his back pocket for his phone. He tried to quell the panic as Dean put the phone to his ear and stepped out of sight.

"Dean, how is he?" Jodi's voice was a comfort. Almost the way Bobby's had been.

"He's about the same. What about on your end? Did you find the healer?"

There was a long sigh that Dean did not like the sound of. "I did, but he's refusing to come with me."

"Refusing? What do you mean?"

Jody lowered her voice. "Dean, I swear, I'm about two seconds from taking him to the car at gun point. I'm out in the driveway right now. His grandson Jeremy is inside trying to talk some sense into him, but man, he is one stubborn S.O.B. He says he's here to help his people and that's it. Apparently, he's carrying a hundred and fifty year old grudge, or something."

Dean clenched his teeth angrily and ran a hand down his face.

"I'm not giving up, I'm just giving you an update," Jodi promised. "Now, you said Sam's still ok? Is he having weird wounds showing up for no reason?"

"Yeah, but then they disappear. Seems I can kind of 'talk him out of it', I guess."

"Yes, that's just what Jeremy described. He's been trying to learn what he can from his grandfather, but doesn't know all the tricks of the trade quite yet. So he's ok other than that? He's not in pain?"

"In pain? What do you mean?" Dean felt a sudden fear creeping into his veins.

"Jeremy has been telling me about some of the victims. He said that ghost sickness causes intense pain in addition to the fear. And it's not related at all to the memories, it's just the body's reaction to that level of stress."

Dean shot a glance to the living room where Sam was moving around uncomfortably on the couch. "Ok, listen. Do me a favor and call the hotel and ask for a guy named Marcus. See if he can make some progress with your healer. I need a minute and then I'll call you back." Dean hung up the phone without waiting to hear anything else. He approached the bed and squatted down in front of Sam.

"Look at me."

Sam forced his eyes to meet Dean's and that was when Dean saw it. Sam was putting up a front. How had he _missed_ it? Dean berated himself, but only for a moment. Right now, he had bigger things to worry about than blame. Right now, Sam was masking pain, but his walls were starting to crumble.

"Sammy, are you hurting?"

Sam closed his eyes wearily in a way he intended to look like exasperation."Dean, I'm f-"

"So help me _God_ , if you say 'I'm fine'-"

Sam closed his mouth and clenched his jaw.

"Sam," Dean swallowed and glared at Sam. "Tell me."

There was a long, long silence as Sam stubbornly held Dean's gaze. It was a silence in which Dean could hear every word that Sam's lips did not speak, but his eyes screamed. _I'm in agony! It hurts so much. I want to tell you, but..._

Finally, the tears began to well in his eyes and Sam nodded. His voice betrayed him as he forced out the words. "H-hurts... Dean..."

Dean reached out and took Sam's face in his hands. " _Sammy_. You need to tell me this stuff, little brother. You need to let me help you-"

"Kept thinking it would stop... but it's not."

"Ok,crap. Now you're burning up," Dean growled as he gently felt the sides of Sam's face.

Sam closed his eyes.

"All right, stay with me here. Listen," Dean demanded and Sam wearily opened his eyes. Dean ran his hand over Sam's forehead and into his hair. "Remember what we talked about? The whole reality thing? You're not supposed to have a fever, Sam. It's the ghost sickness making you think that. You're not really sick- no fever."

Dean sat with him like that for several minutes, just repeating the mantra that Sam was fine and that he didn't have a fever until the phone vibrated.

"Jody?" Dean asked into the phone, not taking his eyes off Sam, still running a hand over his hair and softly repeating, "You're fine, no fever. You're ok."

Jody could hear him, but knew what he was doing. "Well, you were right. Marcus was the ace in the hole. Did he say anything about 'monster slayers' to you?"

"Yeah, he seemed to know we were hunters or something. Called us 'Monster Slayers'. I don't know, it seemed important."

Jodi could tell that no matter how important it was, something far more important was occupying Dean's attention at the moment. "He's not doing too well, is he?"

"That pain thing you mentioned?" Dean mumbled and Jody could hear the self loathing in his voice for not noticing it on his own.

"Ok, Dean. We're on our way," then she added. "you don't happen to know anything about acupuncture, do you?"

"What? No, why?"

"I didn't think so. Jeremy says you can relieve most of the pain with acupuncture."

"I am _not_ doing that to him!"

"I know. I know. Listen, hang in there, I'm gonna get there as soon as I can."

By the time Dean ended the call, Sam's fever was gone, but he was shifting uncomfortably on the bed and breathing heavily.

"Doing what?" Sam managed to ask.

"Nothing. You're still hurting, aren't you?"

Sam nodded, eyes squeezed shut. "It's not going away. Why-"

"Yeah, unfortunately, that's all you," Dean said as he sat on the edge of the sofa bed again, leaning over him. "Don't worry, we're gonna make you feel better, ok? Tell me what hurts."

Sam looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears. Part of it was the pain, but part of it was just... Dean. Being so kind to him. Treating him like the cherished little brother again. Like the whole not-looking-for-him-in-Purgatory thing had never happened. It was ripping at Sam's heart, but he couldn't think to deeply about it for very long because the pain was overwhelming. "Everything. My head, neck, shoulder are the worst...lights... too bright… why won't it stop like everything else?"

"That's not part of Shilah's memories. That's your body is reacting to all the crap it thinks it's going through." Dean got up and lit some of the candles on a table on the far side of the room then turned off all the other lights. Sam could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen and heating something in the microwave. Sam prayed it wasn't food.

Dean returned to the living room and set something down on the back or the sofa bed. He was in I-have-a-plan mode which gave Sam just a glimmer of hope.

"Ok, I'm gonna need you to lie the other way. Feet at that end," Dean said softly motioning for Sam to lie down along the back of the sofa bed as though it were still just a sofa. "I won't be able to reach your neck over the back of this thing."

Sam was too exhausted to argue, ask questions and move his body all at once so he opted to just follow Dean's instructions and move in hopes that some relief was in his future.

"All right, can we try some heat on this?" Dean asked when Sam was lying down again. He moved to the arm of the sofa, right behind Sam's head and sat down on a chair he'd pulled over. He lifted Sam's head and placed a heated pillow on the back of his neck.

"Mmmm..." Sam let out a soft whimper.

"Easy... just lie back... we can do ice instead if-"

"No- n-no... this is good."

"Yeah? Ok... good. I saw that pillow thing in the freezer while I was looking for dinner. Which you _will_ be eating soon. Figured it was some girly thing that could be used hot or cold for aches and pains. Just what you need. It's like they designed this place with you in mind."

"You're the one that noticed it and knew what it was for." Sam accused.

"I notice everything. It's what _good_ hunters do." _Except that I totally missed how much you were hurting_.

Sam flinched as he felt a gentle pressure on his temples.

"Relax," Dean murmured. "I'm just going to try a little pressure here and see how that feels, ok? We're gonna start here and work our way around whatever hurts."

"Hhmmf..." Sam let out a soft, pained sound again as Dean pressed gently into his temples in small, circular motions. He worked his way carefully back to the base of Sam's skull slowly increasing the pressure as he went along.

"Ok, I know... c'mon, just relax. It might hurt a little at first, but let's see if it starts feeling better..."

Sam steadied his breathing.

"Atta boy, deep breaths..."

Sam breathed through the initial pain and then the knotted muscles began to unwind. Dean smiled slightly as he watched the creases in Sam's forehead start to disappear. "Better?" he asked.

"Mmmm...Yeah...s'better..." Sam breathed. He could have cried at the relief. " S'this what Jody told you to do?"

"No. Jody said we could use acupuncture, but I thought deep tissue massage might be the next best thing. I couldn't find any needles."

Sam couldn't stop the laugh that came out, even though it sent a shock wave of pain through his head. "My lucky day." His speech was almost slurring with contentment.

"You're damn right it's your lucky day. Do you know how uncomfortable this is making me? I would have been much happier if I'd gotten to stick you with a crap load of needles." Dean tried to sound annoyed, but he was also trying to keep his voice as quite as he could, which kind of diluted the annoyance.

"Where'd... you learn... how t'do th's?" Sam mumbled. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that he was in so much pain that anything would feel good, or if Dean really knew what he was doing. He was leaning towards the latter.

Dean chuckled. "Sammy. Don't tell me you've never dated a massage therapist before. Because if you haven't, you have no idea what you're missing." He pressed his thumb deeper into the muscles in the back of Sam's neck. Sam bit back a moan of relieved contentment, knowing his brother might be just disturbed enough by that to stop what he was doing.

Sam let out a soft sigh instead as he tried to get the words out. He was starting to fall asleep. "... you dated... a-"

"Three. I went out with three different ones. I faked a lot of back pain. And other things," Dean added slyly.

Sam made a sound that was somewhere between a disgusted groan and a contented sigh. "Please tell me not all at once."

Dean laughed softly.

"Actually... no," Sam breathed. "Just don' tell me an'thin... 'm just starting to feel better... Don' wanna ruin it..." He was trying so hard to stay awake, but he was finally feeling such relief. He was finally feeling relaxed.

"I won't tell you anything," Dean whispered, focusing carefully on his task. "We're just gonna get you feeling better and see if we can keep it that way."

There was no way Sam could fight sleep and within minutes, he was out again.


	11. Chapter 11

_I don't know about you all, but I am in serious need of some gratuitous fluff, a good dose of brother moments, and some protective big brother-ing. If you do too, then read on!_

Sam was lying on his back, dipping in and out of consciousness as Dean's hands worked deeper and deeper into his tensed, knotted muscles. The fire crackled and the wind rattled the windows, but he was warm and the pain was _finally_ going away. Somewhere between temples and neck he fell completely asleep.

"Hey," a voice whispered softly.

"Mmphh…" Sam groaned, floating into semi-consciousness.

"C'mon, sleeping beauty. Gonna work on your back a bit. Roll over, feet down at the foot of the bed...back where they were."

Feet back where they were… that would involve getting up. Nope. Sam figured rolling over he could manage, but his feet were staying put. He flopped onto his side, then let gravity pull him the rest of the way face down into the soft cotton sheets covering the sofa bed, still lying across it, up against the back of it where his head should have been.

"Sam," Sam could hear Dean's eyes rolling. "I can't reach you like this...You're gonna make this difficult, aren't you?" The statement was made under his breath with a resigned sigh that Sam knew meant he wasn't going to make him move. And just when Sam thought he would smother in the subtly scented lavender pillow, because he _just couldn't move_ another inch, a hand slid gently between the side of his face and the pillow and carefully turned his head so he could breathe again.

The bed dipped as Dean knelt beside him, thumbs digging in under his shoulder blades and moving down his back. Sam let out a sigh of contentment.

"Yep. Big Brother has got this all under control," Dean agreed in a hushed tone.

Sam knew that was far from the truth of their current situation, but he was glad for the time being that Dean was taking a bit of solace from Sam's relief.

After a while, Sam wasn't sure how long as he had not been able to stay awake for more than a few seconds at a time, he felt one last gentle pat to his shoulder and then he felt his brother get up from the sofa. Sam was too tired to lift his head to see where he was going, but he knew it wouldn't be far. He was certain of it, at least that's what he told himself. But soon, he started to feel the cold seeping under his skin again. A cold that permeated to his core whenever he sensed Dean was too far away from him. He had to get up. Had to get to his brother before he left! Dean… don't leave!

He tried to move, started to pull himself up, but he only managed to drag himself part way across the bed. The exhaustion was too overwhelming. He tried to call out to him instead, but even that was too much. He could feel sleep pulling him under before he could so much as open his mouth.

Dean got a beer from the fridge and returned to the living room. Sam was twitching slightly in his sleep, letting out a quiet sound of distress every now and then. He had moved so that he was almost diagonal across the bed now. Sprawling Sammy was usually a good sign in the sleep department, but something about the position he was in didn't look like he was just stretching out. Dean threw a few more logs on the fire and then squatted down beside Sam's head. Some of the words he was mumbling sounded suspiciously like "Dean". Dean ran a gentle hand over his hair and tugged at the blankets that Sam had somehow found his way on top of, trying to cover him up.

"Sammy," he whispered softly, still fussing with the blankets. "If you'd lie in the bed like a normal person, we could get you under the covers a lot quicker. You relax, you hear me? You're ok. I'm right here." Dean mumbled as he finally managed to free the blankets and drape them over Sam.

Sam was sound asleep, but his hand moved just slightly, and then his whole arm, as though reaching, searching for something. He shivered again and actually cried out in his sleep.

"Hey!" Dean squatted back down beside the bed, hand in Sam's hair. "Right here, dude… m'right here. Ok?" He kept his voice a quiet whisper, trying to make sure he didn't fully wake him. Sam seemed to settle. Dean shook his head and sighed. He stood up and took one of the pillows out from behind Sam's head. Lifting him gently, he slipped in underneath him so that Sam's head and shoulders were in his lap and Dean's own feet stretched out along the length of the bed. Dean couldn't help a bit of a smile as Sam responded immediately by burrowing closer and grabbing a fistful of Dean's t-shirt in his sleep.

Sam wasn't sure if it had been the howling wind or the cold that had drawn him part way out of sleep, but he was freezing and panicking and suffocating at the same time. He was dazed with sleep, half way in and out of a strange dream state, drunk with exhaustion and completely unable to focus. Sleet was pelting the window panes and he was so cold. And Dean… where was Dean? He couldn't quite get his limbs to move at first as he tried desperately to huddle into the blankets that didn't seem to be able to warm him at all. But then he felt a heaviness closing gently but securely around him, wrapping him in a warmth that began to ease the panic. A soft sound in his ears soothing away the terror, pushing back the cold. Safe, warm... home.

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam curled in around him, nuzzling his face into Dean's shirt. "You are a giant girl, you know that? Why are you so cold, buddy?" he wondered aloud, wrapping his arm a little tighter around his shivering brother.

Sam burrowed deeper into the warmth, pressing closer to the quiet murmurs that seemed to drown out the noise from outside. He noticed he didn't hurt as much anymore. Whatever magic Dean had worked on his shoulders and neck had eased a lot of the pain. He found, too, that as long as he stayed close to the warm spot on the bed and nestled beneath the blanket, he could start to relax. Slowly, he began to come out of the fog and he realized that most of the "blanket" was actually Dean, and Sam was cuddled up about as close as he could get to him, fingers clutching at his shirt, head tucked under his chin. He jolted up a bit, as far as his limited strength would allow and rubbed his eyes. "...'m sorry." he mumbled looking embarrassed at Dean.

"Shut up and lie back down," Dean growled, grabbing Sam by the back of the neck and pulling him back to where he was.

Sam whined softly and struggled a bit in Dean's gasp.

"Sam," Dean warned. "Relax. You were dreaming and freaking out and I want you to settle down and get warm, all right?"

Sam hesitated a moment and then gave in. He slumped against Dean's shoulder with a resigned sigh. He was too tired to argue.

The next time he awoke, he was a much more disoriented and it took a lot longer for Dean to bring him out of it. A _lot_ longer. It was hours later when it happened, day time now, but still the sky was dark with clouds and thick bursts of snow. Jody had called saying they were not far away, and seeing that there was little else he could do, Dean had indulged in a bit of sleep himself.

Sam sat up suddenly, wrenching himself out from under Dean's arm and pressed himself up against the far end of the couch, eyes wide, gazing at Dean.

"Sammy?" Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What's going on?"

Sam just stared at him, breath ragged and looking like he was ready to bolt off the couch at any moment.

"Hey," Dean whispered, realizing then what was happening. He sat up a little straighter, moving back against the opposite arm of the sofa to mirror Sam. "Hey, Sammy, take it easy. You're ok… Just me and you at the cabin, remember?"

Sam's gaze flicked from Dean to the door, to the windows. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes as he tried to steady his breathing.

"I'm not gonna hurt you... Not sure what you're remembering right now, but I need to to try to focus for me, ok? Sammy? Look at me..."

A small sound escaped Sam's lips, a word that Dean didn't quite understand.

"What?" he asked

Sam repeated the word, and a few others… none of which Dean understood.

"Sam..." Dean's insides had gone cold.

And then Sam jumped up and raced to the door, a bit unsteadily, but fast enough that he almost made it to the porch before Dean could stop him.

"Hey!" Dean lunged for him and slammed the door closed. "Hey- No!"

Sam thrashed, fighting him weakly for a moment and then collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Still speaking in what Dan could only assume was Navajo.

"Sam, settle down! I'm not going to hurt you… Sammy, _stop_..." Dean begged over Sam's cries and indecipherable pleas. The breathing was scaring Dean the most. Like he just couldn't get enough air into his lungs. Like he was suffocating.

He tried to restrain him with the least possible force, which at the moment wasn't too hard as Sam seemed to have little strength left to fight him.

"Relax, buddy, c'mon…" Dean was able to free a hand to run over Sam's hair and thumb the tears off his face. He kept the other arm across the front of Sam's chest, pinning him as gently as he could up against the closed door. "Slow it down. Slow breaths… I'm gonna let you go, ok? But you need to stay right here until you calm down. All right?"

Dean cautiously let his arm drop and then just rested his hand lightly over Sam's heart. He could feel it pounding. "Sammy, _please_ … slow, deep breath..."

"Need… to find…him..." Sam interspersed some English between the Navajo, enough for Dean to get a complete sentence that he could understand.

"Find who?"

"… brother..."

"Sammy, _I'm_ your brother-"

"No!" Sam started to struggle again.

"Ok! Ok, all right- stop. _Stop_! We'll- we'll find him, ok?" Dean said with hesitant conviction, if there could be such a thing, keeping his hand firmly against Sam's chest. "We'll find him."

Sam's breathing was not improving, and he was writhing uncomfortably under Dean's hand. So Dean backed off. He stayed close enough to reach him though, if needed.

"Sa- Shilah?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't answer, but he stilled a bit and almost met Dean's eyes.

"Shilah, where is your brother?"

There was a long pause during which Sam looked like he was about to cry. He answered softly in broken English and words that made no sense to Dean. But he was able to pick out enough. "Gone." and "Left me."

But Sam, or Shilah, seemed to understand what Dean was asking him very clearly. "Why did he leave you?"

"Tried… stop him…bad... not care… me after… left me..."

"You tried to stop him? From working with Wilson. Right?"

There was a slight nod.

"And then he… got mad at you? And you think he didn't care about you?"

Two tears poured over the edge of Sam's eye lids and Dean had to use a good deal of restraint not to touch him right then.

"Shilah, did Sani say that? Did you actually talk to him?" This didn't make a lot of sense to Dean. He didn't know a lot about Navajo culture, but he knew about brothers and Shilah had been just a kid. "Did Sani tell you that? Or did someone else tell you he was angry and didn't care about you?"

"Left me..." Sam repeated, more Navajo surrounding the English.

Sam looked confused, like he was trying to process what Dean was saying. But with much relief, Dean noticed that, though he was crying, his breathing had slowed considerably.

"Shilah, I don't think your brother was angry. I think he was looking for you. I think Wilson kept you hidden and told you a bunch of lies."

Sam was staring at Dean now with haunted eyes. Suddenly, a dark spot began to appear on Sam's shirt, right where he'd been bleeding before. His breathing got erratic again.

"Sam… Sam! Dude, you need to snap out of this!" _Shit_! Dean swore to himself. _Did I just make things worse_? "Damn it…" Dean cursed and reached forward. Sam slammed up against the door.

"Sammy. You're gonna need to let me take a look. Just settle down, ok?"

"Left me...Dean… sorry- "Sam was gasping, curled in a ball on the floor.

Dean gripped his shoulders. "Sammy, I'm here, I'm not leaving you. Ok? I know you're scared. I know you're remembering things that don't make any sense, but I need you to remember who I am, all right? Can you do that? Can you try to just think about that for a minute? It's me… Dean… big brother, remember? Not gonna let anything hurt you."

Sam's eyes were squeezed shut.

Dean got down on the floor and laid beside him, taking Sam's face in his hands. "Hey-hey-hey, c'mon, eyes on me. You're safe. No cuts, no bruises, no fever… Tell Shilah it's ok… we're gonna fix this."

Sam was still curled in on himself, but his eyes were open now and his breathing was slowing down.

"D-Dean," he said hesitantly, still looking terrified and completely exhausted.

"You're ok, you're ok," Dean promised, still lying on the floor. He propped himself up and took hold of Sam's shirt. "I need to take a look at this," he said, lifting up the edge of the fabric. There was a cut that seemed to be fading, but not completely disappearing this time. Dean grabbed hold of Sam's hands. Faint tinges of blue and purple circled both wrists.

Sam dragged himself into an upright position with Dean's assistance and wrapped his arms around his knees, closing his eyes again, groaning.

"Sam?" Dean slid a hand up against Sam's forehead just before Sam dropped his head to his knees.

Sam took a breath. "I… I just need a minute."

"Ok," Dean nodded and squeezed the back of Sam's neck. "Ok. I'll… go get you some water."

Dean stood and headed to the kitchen keeping his eye on Sam the whole time. He took note that Sam, even as he tried to pull himself together, wiping tears from his eyes and steadying his breath, kept his eye on Dean too.

"Jody's on her way," Dean said, just to let Sam hear his voice. "Should be here soon."

It wasn't quite a minute, but it was all he was willing to give him. Dean returned with the water and handed it to Sam, guiding it to his mouth, hand over shaky hand.

"Let's get you back to bed, huh? Can you stand up?"

Sam nodded. He stood, leaning on Dean and walked unsteadily back to the sofa and crawled over to the far side of the bed, close to the fire. He was shaking and looking just awful.

Dean brought over a fresh t-shirt and inspected the cut again. It wasn't bleeding now, but he didn't like the fact that he could see a mark this time that wasn't going away. And that his brother looked freaked out of his mind. Dean slid under the covers on the other side of the sofa bed and lifted his arm. "All right. Come on back over here and let's go back to sleep, huh?"

Sam just blinked sleepily at him, his gaze frightened and confused, like he wasn't quite sure what Dean wanted him to do.

"Come on, it's ok." Dean motioned with his hand for Sam to come closer.

Sam moved cautiously toward him then, but Dean was pretty sure at this point the hesitation was more from Sam being confused by the uncharacteristic closeness Dean was encouraging rather than the overwhelming fear of Shilah's memories. He slid his feet down and leaned cautiously against Dean's side.

"There you go… put your head down, you were all comfortable and asleep before...that's it," Dean praised as Sam curled up under his arm and leaned his head up against Dean's chest. "How are those shoulders feeling? Still good?"

Sam nodded. "A lot better, thanks." There was a long pause and then, "M'sorry…" Sam whispered, so softly Dean could barely hear him.

"What? Why?" Dean asked, surprised.

"M'sorry you have to do this."

Dean processed for a second and then snorted. "Sorry that I have to cuddle my little brother until he falls asleep? It's not exactly my first rodeo, cowboy. 'sides...I've had worse things happen."

Sam was quiet, but even in his silence, Dean could hear how miserable he felt.

"Not much worse, granted, but I've had worse." Dean gave him a slight squeeze. "Hey… I know this ghost sickness thing sucks, but we're gonna get it all figured out, ok?"

"Yeah…"

"We will." Dean said with conviction. But even as he took some comfort in feeling Sam go completely lax in his arms as he fell asleep again, the icy feeling in his stomach got worse as he watched the bruises on Sam's wrist start to darken. He sent out a silent plea for Jody to hurry.


	12. Chapter 12

_Apologies. I know this story is taking it's sweet time being told. It's taking longer to piece it together than I'd anticipated, but I promise not to abandon it. So I'm going to post this now before Camila (a concerned reviewer who didn't log in so I can't send my love and apologies over PM) completely loses her mind! You can all thank her for getting my butt in gear. :D_

If they- WHEN, Dean corrected himself- _w_ _hen_ they got through this mess, they were taking a break. He was exhausted, Sam was oscillating between life threatening panic attacks and being borderline comatose, and they were currently set up in some if the nicest accommodations they'd ever had, but couldn't actually enjoy. They were taking a break, even if it was just one night.

Jodi had called twice. They'd gotten held up behind vehicles stuck in the snow and then stuck once themselves, but by now, they were minutes away. Dean had unlocked the door in anticipation of their arrival and in hopes of having an armful of little brother at any moment. He didn't want to have to let go of Sam in order to to let people in.

"Sammy," he coaxed, inching closer. "Sammy listen to my voice, buddy. It's me..."

Sam was curled up in the corner shivering and breathing frantically. He'd been that way for nearly half an hour. The wounds were back on his wrists and abdomen, and once he'd even coughed up blood that was now spattered on his shirt sleeve. Dean had been coaxing and cajoling and begging, but nothing seemed to help. Getting too close made things worse. A couple times Sam had looked at Dean with slight recognition, but it was short lived. Dean was beyond panicked, but determined to keep trying. He was starting to worry that Sam didn't have quite as much time as they had originally thought.

"Sammy, I need you to snap out of this, bro. You're really scaring me... _Please_."

And finally, Sam blinked at him and held his gaze.

"Dean?" he panted, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut as though trying to keep reality from being snatched away from him once again. He reached out, but was too weak to move towards his brother.

"C'mere." Dean opened his arms and went to Sam, getting down on the floor beside him "C'mere..."

Sam let out his breath as he collapsed into Dean's arms. He pressed his face into the warm safety of flannel and big brother, soaking in the familiarity as though it had been gone from him for decades rather than minutes. Tears flowed and a small sob escaped, despite his best efforts.

"Ok. Ok… Jodi's almost here. We're gonna get you fixed up." Dean wasn't sure anymore if the shaking he was feeling was from him or Sam. Sam's head was pressed firmly up under his chin and Dean could feel tears soaking through his t shirt. "We're gonna get you fixed up, ok? Everything's gonna be fine…. everything'll be fine."

"Dean..." Sam breathed weakly.

"I'm here," he whispered. "Right here."

"Don't feel right..."

"Shh...shhhh..." Dean hushed him as he tried to will him to calm down. "I know buddy. I know," fingers lacing through Sam's hair, rubbing the back of his head. "Jodi's on her way. She's bringing help."

"Don't leave."

" 'Course not. I promise. Gonna stay right here," voice soft, gentle... hiding any trace of panic.

"...Cold..."

Dean looked around but couldn't see a blanket in reach. He took off his flannel, which caused Sam some distress the minute he let go. "Easy… here you go, Sammy. Let's see if we can get you warmed up a little and then we'll go back over by the fire, all right? How about we slow down the breathing too, huh?"

Sam tried. He really tried. Deep breath in, slow breath out, listen to Dean's breaths, try to follow. But always, he was back to the rapid, shallow intakes of air, the pounding heart and the feeling of welling panic. And then the door opened, and Dean tensed and there was wind and cold and voices he didn't recognize. He clenched his fist into Dean's shirt and pressed his face up against his chest. He knew he was not himself. He knew this was not the reaction he should be having. He should be on his feet, alert to any dangers, making sure the people who entered were not a threat to Dean. But there was nothing he could do to stop what was happening to him. Dean's arms tightening around him brought him both relief and shame.

Jody was very careful to announce they were coming in well before she opened the door.

"Oh, Sam…." Jody hurried over and knelt beside them. She reached out to brush Sam's hair off his face, but he flinched at her touch and squeezed his fist tighter around the handful of Dean's shirt that he was holding on to. As Sam gripped tighter to Dean, Dean in turn did the same with Sam and a warning look flashed across Dean's face, so menacing and fiercely protective that Jody drew back as though one of them might actually bite her.

Dean's expression softened immediately. "Sorry… Been a long… day? Night? I don't even know what time it is."

He was wiped out. And he was terrified. Jody nodded and rubbed Dean's arm, being very careful to show she was not going to touch Sam. "I know. Help is here. We're gonna make him better."

The two men who had followed her inside were already working quietly across the room, folding up the sofa bed and putting something on the floor in front of the fire place. Dean watched them cautiously for a few moments, then finally let his eyelids droop a bit as he leaned his chin lazily on Sam's head and rubbed his back. "Sammy, Jody's here, man."

Jody kept her eyes on Sam, but observed Dean's behavior as surreptitiously as she could. Even in the midst of his fear and fiercely protective demeanor, a tender gentleness was radiating from him. A softer side that she had never really seen the depth of, but had always suspected he possessed. All focused on Sam.

Sam's breathing was ragged and he seemed as though he wasn't hearing or noticing much of what was going on in the room outside of Dean, but he finally lifted his head just a bit and made eye contact with her. "J-Jody?"

"Yes! I-" Jody looked hesitantly at Dean. His face softened even more with an apologetic look. Jody took that as all the permission she needed to reach out and brush back Sam's hair. "Yes… Oh, Sam, you hang in there, you hear me? We've got some people here who are going to help you. It's gonna be ok," Jody whispered. He looked awful. There were cuts and bruises all over him and he was panting and shaking. His eyes were red and teary and it seemed like all he could do to lift his head just an inch to give her the weakest smile. But she smiled right back at him, full of confidence that she didn't feel. She realized that she had basically brought a witch doctor to help a dying man.

Over near the fireplace, the two men had stopped whatever it was they'd been doing. The younger man approached them quietly, his long dark hair pulled back from his gentle face. "My grandfather is ready," he said, motioning towards the other side of the room.

"Thanks," Jody smiled at him and looked over at the brothers. Dean was looking suspiciously at the stranger who was hovering a bit too close for comfort, not wanting to entrust him with Sam, but not knowing what else to do. "Dean, Sam, this is Jeremy. And that's his grandfather, Nabahe."

Dean nodded. "Sammy," he whispered, not taking his eyes off Jeremy. "We gotta move you, buddy. Time to go see the doctor, ok?"

"Doctor?" Sam mumbled.

"Yep. You didn't keep up with your apple a day. C'mon, let's get you up."

Jeremy stepped forward. "May I?" he asked reaching a hand out towards Sam, but not touching him until Dean gave his consent. Jody had warned them in the car that Dean could get a bit over protective and Jeremy seemed to have paid attention.

The old man was sitting off to the side of a large circlular design of colored sand in the middle of the floor.

"We built it here near the fire so he'd be warm," Jeremy explained.

Dean nodded gratefully at him as they walked Sam into the middle of the sand circle and eased eased him onto the floor.

Nabahe was sitting in a chair he'd pulled over from the kitchen table. He was burning something in a small bowl at his feet. He looked at Dean.

"You are monster slayers?"

"We're hunters, if that's what you mean," Dean nodded, watching Sam nervously. Sam seemed quiet for the moment. His breathing a bit rapid and he shivered every now and then, but he seemed calm.

Nabahe nodded. "Yes," and then he went back to adding dried leaves and powders to the smoldering bowl.

"What's wrong with my brother? Is it ghost sickness? Can you help him?"

Nabahe turned back to Sam and ignored the questions.

Dean looked at Jeremy.

Jeremy motioned for Dean to come with him to the kitchen. Dean followed, glancing at Sam over his shoulder as he went. Sam's eyes were closed, and he didn't seem distressed, but Dean made sure to stand where he could see him.

Jeremy lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "My grandfather will not speak of the ghost sickness during the hours of darkness. Few Navajos will."

"But you-?"

Jeremy nodded. "It worries me to do so because of all I have been told, but... I think there is a bit more superstition in my culture than there needs to be. And I am concerned that your brother does not have much time."

Dean's stomach dropped. "How do you know?"

"He is much weaker than Tulley was. And all the wounds have already appeared at the same time. Has he been delirious at times?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"The last time was almost half an hour."

Jeremy did not respond to this, but Dean could read his face, and it was not good.

"You have spoken to Marcus? You know of the curse that was laid upon the Wilson family?"

Dean nodded. "He told me. He said as soon as the last of the Wilsons bit it then everybody else started dropping like flies."

"Yes. But the curse should have ended with John Wilson's grandson's death a few weeks ago. Something happened to awaken the spirits and spread this sickness."

"Spirit _s_ plural?"

"Quite possibly. Shilah's memories are manifesting themselves in other people and we believe something may have also awakened a skinwalker. The skinwalker makes the sickness more deadly and progress more rapidly."

Dean's eyes widened. "Like a shapeshifter? You've seen it?"

"My grandfather has."

"Well, great. How do we find it? And how do we kill this bastard? Silver bullet?"

Jeremy was silent for a moment. He looked at the floor and then met Dean's eyes. "Yes, but that would most likely kill your brother as well."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. Then he flung his hands out to the side in desperation. "So, what then?"

"That is why we are here. As much as it pains me to say this, my grandfather has been unwilling to help anyone other than our people until now. This is something that is not discussed in our culture. The superstitions, the fear… I could not convince him to help. No one ever approached us about it. No one thought to until the day Tulley became sick. Tulley's mother is a distant relative of ours. She knew to call us. We had suspected what was going on, Marcus told us about the deaths. But my grandfather refused to step in, except for Tulley. And even now, he is here only because..."

"Because we're hunters and can maybe figure this out."

Jeremy nodded, looking ashamed. "I have tried-"

"Dude, look. I know you did. You're here now, and believe me, I am grateful. But we're gonna need all hands on deck for this. I know about shape shifters, I know about ghost sickness, but it seems like there's something a little different about the Navajo versions of all this stuff. You seem like you know a lot, but I'm getting the impression that he knows more. I'm gonna need him to talk."

Jeremy glanced out into the living room. "Yes. He knows a great deal."

Dean sighed. "Well, I'll tell you what my plan is right now. You know where Sani and Shilah are buried?"

"Yes. I could find the place." Jeremy looked wary then.

"Well, I'm gonna go burn their bones."

And with that, Jeremy went positively white. "No."

"Why?"

Jeremy stammered. "I… I don't know, but I do not think disturbing their grave could lead to anything good."

Dean raised an eyebrow. Pieces of a puzzle were starting to put themselves together in his mind and an idea had suddenly occurred to him. "So, what kinds of things would happen if I disturbed their grave?"

"It could unleash terrible-" Jeremy stopped suddenly and looked at Dean. And the pieces fell into place for him as well. "It's already happened, hasn't it? The grave has already been disturbed."

Dean nodded. "I think it's a safe bet. I'm gonna go check it out. You in?"

Jeremy's color hadn't quite returned, but he nodded.

Dean should have known better than to start to feel hopeful. At that moment, Sam cried out from the other room and Dean was bolting towards the sound before he even realized what was happening. He managed to stop short at the edge of the sand painting the surrounded his brother.

Sam was writhing on the floor and gasping for air.

"Sammy!" Dean started forward, but Jeremy stopped him. Jody feared momentarily for Jeremy's life, but Dean seemed to know he had to let them do their work.

"No, do not break the edges of the painting. I understand it is hard to see him like this. You'll want to go to him more than once tonight, but you have to stay out of the circle," Jeremy explained.

"Deeean!" Sam cried.

Dean cast one desperate look at Jeremy and then sank to the floor, just a few inches shy of the colored sand. "I'm here, Sam. I'm right here," he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. Jody could feel his agony all the way across the room.

Nabahe began chanting, waving the branch over him. Eventually, Sam seemed to calm down a bit. His eyes closed and he lay panting and shivering on the floor.

Nabahe returned to the corner of the room and sat down. He began chanting something Dean couldn't understand.

Jody reached out and touched Jeremy's arm. "What is happening?"

Jeremy shook his head, looking concerned. "The sickness seems to have a stronger hold on Sam than it did on Tulley. Correct me if I am wrong, but he has been through some terrible hardships? Frightening, terrible things that scarred him deeply?"

"Yes." Dean said without hesitating. And without taking his eyes off of Sam. There was so much deep emption in his utterance of that one single word, that Jody thought her heart would break.

Jeremy just nodded in understanding. "The sickness attaches well to people who have experienced anything like what Shilah went through. It is not only the hardships, but the depth of the sibling bond that it attaches to. Your bond with your brother is very strong?"

"Yes." Dean said, again without hesitation and with just as much emotion.

"So, Sam's like the perfect storm for this thing?"

"I am afraid so." Jeremy said.

"Is he going to get worse if I leave?" Dean asked, still watching Sam.

Jeremy glanced at Nabahe and then spoke to him in Navajo. Nabahe simply nodded and reached into a bag on the floor. He began pouring a liquid into the bowl with the smoking leaves.

Jeremy turned back to Dean. "My grandfather can keep him still and stable for some time. He will be all right," he reassured.

"I'll be here too, Dean." Jody promised.

Dean cast a grateful glance in her direction and then leaned a little closer to Sam. "Sammy, you hang on, you hear me? I'm gonna come right back, ok? I promise."


	13. Chapter 13

The minute he stepped out of the house and away from Sam, he was back in Purgatory mode. Adrenaline rushing, heart pounding, all senses on high alert.

"Wait here," he told Jeremy as he went to the garage and took what he hoped would be useful from the Impala's trunk.

Jeremy's eyes widened slightly as Dean approached with a large blade in one hand, a sawed off in the other and a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He handed the shot gun to Jeremy.

"Just rock salt in this one. Won't kill anything, but it can buy us time, depending on what we're dealing with." Dean hoped it would work. With the possibility that killing the thing they were hunting could hurt or even kill Sam, he wasn't taking chances handing a stranger anything deadly.

They set off together through the woods in search of answers. The woods were thick enough that the wind wasn't quite as bad as it had been near the cabin, but the snow covered ground was difficult to navigate with fallen limbs and rocks hidden from view. It was cold and the snow was still coming down. After a steep decent and crossing a stream, they came to an outcropping of rocks that appeared to extend for miles into the forest. They walked along the base of the cliff wall, Dean wordlessly following Jeremy who at first had seemed a bit unsure of where he was going, but was now appearing to gain confidence with every step.

"Yes," he said finally, pointing up ahead while still moving forward. "This is the place."

They were approaching a spot along the base of the cliff where the rocks above jutted out forming an overhang. A series of Native American symbols had been carved into the wall of stone, barely noticeable except that Dean had been looking for signs of anything remotely indicative of a burial ground. The ground beneath the overhang was piled up in uneven heaps around what appeared to be a deep hole covered in snow.

Jeremy was nodding. "The grave has been excavated."

Dean chewed at his lip, trying to sort through all the questions suddenly popping up in his mind. But Jeremy seemed to have pieced things together immediately. Or perhaps earlier suspicions had just been confirmed. "The bodies have been separated. They are no longer together in the afterlife."

"And this has set things off?"

Jeremy nodded.

"When?" Dean wondered aloud, but then answered his own question. "Right around the time of Wilson's death. Maybe he did this to try to stop the curse?"

"Perhaps. It would not have stopped anything, it would have only made things worse, but he would not have known that."

"So, would putting the bodies back together fix the problem?"

"Hopefully," Jeremy said, circling the hole in the ground. "But where are the bodies?"

"Well, I think I might know where parts of them are." Dean proceeded to tell Jeremy about the skull he'd found buried beneath the woodshed and how one of the victims had been trying to chop his way through the floor before he died. "And Marcus had told me that another victim was clawing at the floor and one was tearing apart a wine cellar."

"The ghost sickness… Shilah is trying to get back to Sani. Sani's body must be in the mining tunnels."

"In pieces," Dean grimaced.

Jeremy nodded, turning up his coat collar against the frigid air and shoving his hands in his coat pockets. "The tunnels run beneath the hotel and for miles around this area."

They had both turned back towards the cabin now, an unspoken decision that both of them needed to warm up before figuring out what to do next. Snow was falling lightly and temperatures had plummeted. The winds had settled for the moment, leaving an eerie stillness in the dense forest.

Jeremy began to slow his pace, and then he stopped completely, looking around as though he'd heard something. Dean stopped and listened. He heard nothing.

"It is watching," Jeremy said finally.

Dean couldn't see anything, but he had been through enough to feel that Jeremy was right. Something was watching them. "C'mon," Dean urged. "We're almost back to the cabin."

They hiked the rest of the way without incident, but the air was thick with an uneasiness.

As they climbed the steps to the porch, Dean was relieved to see through the window a certain little brother sitting up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket and drinking something out of a mug. He looked rather cranky, but coherent.

"Dean!" Sam's eyes darted towards the door as they entered. He put the mug down and jolted forward in an attempt to stand.

Jody was beside him in an instant, both hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down to the couch with a disappointingly little amount of effort, Dean noticed. "Easy, there, my friend," She scolded gently. "You stay where you are, I'm sure he'll come to you."

And Dean was already there, plopping down beside him, patting his knee as though everything was fine. "Hiya, Sammy! Good to see-"

"Where _were_ you?" Sam asked, his voice lowered as though trying to keep everyone else but Dean from hearing him. He looked exhausted, too weak to sit up completely straight on the sofa as he would have done to accentuate his annoyance at Dean's absence had he been capable. His eyebrows pressed together, creasing his forehead and something between anger and terror burned in his eyes. Dean noted that Jody looked equally exhausted and unsettled. Something had happened.

A knot formed in the pit of Dean's stomach. _I left you. After I promised not to._ But there wasn't time for guilt right now. He turned then to Nabahe who was carefully, almost reverently sweeping up the sand from the floor into small piles and chanting words Dean couldn't quite make out. "Is Sam better? Is he ok now?"

Nabahe addressed Jeremy and spoke in hushed tones, more words that Dean did not understand. Jeremy looked concerned.

"What happened?" Dean demanded.

Dean was not surprised when Jeremy stepped in and answered. Nabahe gave no indication that he'd heard the question. "He is stable for the time being, but we need to act quickly."

"And do what?" Sam demanded before Dean could interject.

"Sani and Shilah's bodies were exhumed and separated. Probably by James Wilson. They need to be returned to their sacred ground."

"The guy who just died a few weeks ago?" Jody asked. "Why?"

"We don't know," Dean sighed, still wanting answers to his own question. "Probably to try to break the curse."

Sam nodded. "But it just ended up making things worse, right?"

"Pretty much. We might know where Sani's bones are, some of them, but not Shilah's." _Oh, and there's a skinwalker or something on the loose too_.

"Sam," Jody raised her eyebrows at him expectantly and Sam looked at her like a petulant child and raised the mug to his lips. A slight grimaced crossed over his face as he drank.

"It's something Nabahe gave him," Jody explained when Dean shot her a questioning glance. "He needed something stronger than-" Jody searched in vain for a term to describe what Nabahe had been doing to help Sam before. At a loss for words, she gestured in the direction of the sand painting in a state of disarray on the floor and bit her lip. Nabahe was still kneeling at the edge of it, collecting the small sand piles in a wooden bowl. Jody sighed and looked back at the boys. "As soon as he got some of it in him, he started doing better."

"It's temporary." Jeremy shifted his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets again. He was clearly anxious to start taking action. Though none of them were exactly sure what kind of action needed to be taken. "But it will keep him stable for a while."

"Wait a minute," Dean held up his hand and stepped forward. "Are you saying he's not cured? I thought you could help him! You cured Tulley-"

"The connection to Sam is much stronger that it was with Tulley. And it's not only the sibling bond, or the shared experiences between Sam and Shilah. My grandfather believes the curse also gathers these shared fears and experiences and draws strength from them. There were several victims after Tulley and now it is so strong it will be difficult if not impossible to break it."

Dean stared at him, taking in what he'd said. He went through a brief and violent surge of emotions; terror, grief, anguish and then finally settled on a rage-filled determination.

But it was Sam who spoke first. "We're not going to break it."

Dean spun around to face him, preparing to unleash some of that anger in the form of a lecture self sacrifice. But again, Sam managed to speak first, in a tone that even in his weakened state was laced with his own rage-filled determination. "We're going to end it."

Dean nodded then, relieved. "Damn straight. How do we find Shilah's bones?"

Dean wasn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe he was hoping Jeremy might suggest some kind of Native American divining ritual for lost remains, but he seemed at a loss.

"Why don't we ask him?" Sam shrugged.

Everyone stared blankly at him for a moment.

"I mean, it's not like possession, but Shilah's… connected with me somehow, right? He keeps… coming through sometimes and it's not like I can control it, but maybe, I don't know, Is there a way?"

Jeremy was looking Sam with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "Are you certain this is something you want to do?"

So apparently, it was an option, Sam concluded. "Look, you said yourself we don't have much time."

"Could we? Would it be safe?" Jody asked.

"Now just hold on!" Dean growled.

"Dean!" Sam snapped. "It doesn't matter- there isn't time. We have to do something or more people are going to get hurt."

Dean ignored him and turned to Jeremy. "How safe is it?"

"I don't know. I have been taught that nothing in regards to ghost sickness is safe. But you are right," he said looking right at Sam. "There is not much time."

Dean's stomach churned as Jeremy went over to Nabahe and sat across from him on the floor. The two spoke for a moment and then both stood.

Sam squared his shoulders and took another sip of whatever was in the mug, casting glances in Dean's direction as though preparing for an argument.

Dean didn't like where this was headed, but didn't see an alternative at the moment.

Nabahe sat down on the coffee table across from Sam. He looked from one brother to the other and finally spoke to them. "You are brave men. Shilah will speak through you." He moved the mug away from Sam, motioned for him to lie down and dipped his fingers into a pouch attached to his belt. He drew a symbol on Sam's forehead with a red colored powder and spoke in Navajo, lifting his hands towards the ceiling and beginning to chant again.

Sam was still for a while, but then he uttered something. Something Dean could not understand, but Nabahe did. He responded and the two conversed in Navajo for a moment. But Sam's voice was soft, distant. And it was frightened.

Nabahe continued his conversation, his tone flat and even. But Sam's voice was becoming more desperate. He was starting to sound like he couldn't breathe.

Enough, Dean decided as he moved around to the back of the sofa. Dean leaned over and put a hand firmly on Sam's chest. Nabahe made no move to stop him and didn't seem concerned, but Dean kept his voice low. "Hey, you're ok. I'm here, Sam."

Sam drew in a deep, steadying breath and looked Dean right in the eye. "Sani," Sam whispered.

Nabahe looked at Dean, a trace of what might have been a smile on his face. "Your bond is deep enough to fool a ghost. Shilah feels your brotherhood even though he is separated from his own."

"Yeah, well," Dean cringed, thinking momentarily of all they'd been through. Purgatory, Benny, that stupid cursed penny… He had felt bad after that one. Had been trying to make it up to Sam ever since. But hadn't really felt he could. "That's all very Hallmark, but we need to know where those bones are."

Nabahe gazed at him calmly. "They are not in a place where you could find them. The are scattered in water. Some swept out to deeper waters, far underground. But-"

Jeremy shook his head. "No. No, there has to be something still here. Something Sam could have touched. The ghost sickness is transmitted through direct contact."

Nabahe's phantom smile appeared again, and a look of almost pride in his grandson. "Yes."

But Jeremy, to his credit, didn't look proud so much as he did relieved that there was still hope to help Sam.

Nabahe started talking to Sam again. Or Shilah, Dean corrected himself.

Sam was shaking his head and starting to get distressed again.

Nabahe repeated what he'd said, and Sam did the same, but louder this time and more desperate. And then the gasping started again.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean kept his hand on Sam's chest and grabbed his shoulder with the other.

Nabahe repeated himself. And Sam responded in the same desperate, terrified tone. Words Dean did not understand, but recognized because the two of them kept saying the same thing.

"Stop! Enough!" Dean demanded. "That's enough! Sammy? C'mon, man, breathe!"

Nabahe reached over and wiped the symbol off of Sam's forehead. Sam sucked in one last breath of air and then opened his eyes.

"Sammy? Hey!" Dean leaned over the couch far enough to put himself in Sam's line of vision. "Hey, come on, slow it down. You're ok. You're ok."

Sam was digging his fingers into the fabric of Dean's sleeve.

"C'mon, man, deep breaths... that's it... Ok? You good?"

Panting and shivering, Sam brought his attention to his brother and nodded hesitantly.

Dean patted his chest and let out his own breath. "Ok. Ok. So, what then?" He asked, turning to Nabahe. "Do we have a plan?"

Nabahe looked concerned. "He was not able to tell me where the remains were located."

"Why not?" Dean's gaze darted from his brother to Nabahe and back. Sam was squeezing his eyes shut and still trying to slow his breathing. "Sammy? Sam, hey, ok, take it easy, man." He gripped Sam's shoulders and ducked his head to meet his eyes.

Sam waved him off. "I'm fine. I'm ok." But he was shaking and Dean wasn't buying it. He reached over to the arm of the sofa where one of the blankets was draped, pulled it up around Sam's shoulders and wrapped him up.

"He said he couldn't see anything inside the hotel, but the remains _must_ be there." Jeremy said, looking equally concerned. "It is probably something very small. In order to complete the transformation into a witch doctor, Sani would have taken a piece of bone and ground it up into a powder or sand. He'd have used it in a ceremony to become one of the witch people. The substance becomes what is called corpse poison."

Ceremony. Sand. Powder. Something Sam could have touched. Dean thought of the ceremonies Nabahe had performed so far. The powder on Sam's forehead, the sand painting on the floor. The sand painting...

"Sammy," Dean turned to him, his eyes widening. "There was a sand painting on the mantel in the hotel lobby. Do you remember seeing that? Did you touch it?"

Sam stared at him a moment, thinking. "Yeah, I think I did. You think-"

"Yes," Jeremy was looking encouraged. "The powder was often incorporated into sand paintings. Usually the paintings are temporary, but Sani would likely have created something that would last since he planned to die immediately after the placing the curse. But why couldn't Shilah see it?"

"There were protection symbols carved into the mantle where the painting is… could that have acted as warding? Preventing Shilah from seeing it?"

Jeremy nodded. Nabahe had gone eerily silent and Dean realized then that it was growing dark outside and he was probably done offering up information about ghost sickness.

"So would that be enough? Grab the skull, grab the sand painting, put them back together in their burial ground and we should be good to go?"

Jeremy nodded. "That is the hope."

"Well," Dean stood and turned to Jody. "Mind if I borrow your truck?"

Jody tossed him the keys.

"What do you say, are you in?" Dean asked Jeremy.

Jeremy nodded and headed for the door.

Dean turned to Sam then. "Hey," he put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'll be back, ok?"

But instead of the confident look of annoyance Dean expected, he got The Eyes. And not the sad, pleading eyes that were almost impossible to say no to. It was the scared, lost, _begging_ eyes that _were_ impossible to say no to.

"Sam? Hey… what's going on? I'll be back, ok? You need to stay here-"

"No!" Sam shook his head. "No," he repeated a bit more softly. "I need to come with you."

Dean shot a glance at Nabahe, who was gazing at the two of them and nodding. "Yes. He needs to go. I cannot keep him here. But I will be ready for him when you return."

Dean really wanted to ask what he meant by that, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

And so they went. The snow was still falling, the roads were still a mess, but Dean and Jeremy took Jody's truck and worked their way back to the hotel. Sam was fading fast, looking more exhausted than Dean had seen him in quite some time, his eyes closed and his breathing was unsteady. He was folded up against the passenger side door in a rather uncomfortable looking position. Dean put the car in park and turned to look at him for a moment.

"Sammy, I want you to stay here, ok? Keep the motor running, stay warm and I'll be right back, can you do that for me?"

Dean's concern doubled when he not only got no argument from Sam, but complete agreement. He looked back at Jody. Her eyes were wide with worry, but she nodded, knowing what Dean wanted without even being asked. "I'll sit up there with him," she said, already getting out of the car and moving towards the driver's seat.

Dean gave Sam a pat on the shoulder before getting out. "Be right back, ok? You hang on!"

Dean and Jeremy got out of the car and headed to the woodshed. Dean pried open the floor boards, descended into the underground room and retrieved the skull. Then they went to hotel to find the sand painting.

The lobby was empty, except for Marcus who was mopping the floor the lobby. He stopped and smiled in surprise as Dean approached.

Dean nodded to him as he reached up and took the sand painting off the mantel. He put it carefully into the bag next to the skull and zipped the bag closed.

Dean had been caught off guard a few times during this hunt, but nothing surprised him quite as much as the thing that crawled out of the fireplace moments after they removed the sand painting from the mantel.


	14. Chapter 14

Jody adjusted the blanket on Sam and patted his arm. "Your brother's gonna have this all taken care of before you know it."

Sam tried to smile at her, but he was focusing most of his energy on trying to breathe and not have a nervous breakdown.

"I'm so sorry I dragged you into this," Jody whispered as she pushed a strand of hair out of Sam's eyes.

He lifted his head then, looking mildly cross. "...our job," he pointed out, weakly.

Jody sighed, knowing there was no use arguing her point. It was warm inside the vehicle. The lamp posts lining the drive of the hotel glowed a soft yellow and the snow falling all around them created an almost peaceful ambiance. Sam's breathing was evening out and the shivering had mostly stopped. This was the moment that any other person would have sat back against the seat and drawn in a breath of relief as they relaxed into the stillness. Jody was new to The Life, but she knew better than to allow herself to feel safe and peaceful in the middle of a hunt. Her guard was up. She wasn't sure exactly why, but it was up. Sam was sitting up now and looking off into the distance. His labored breathing had calmed, but something about his posture had set Jody on edge. He was rigid and focused, like a cat studying prey and trying to calculate the exact moment to pounce. Jody tried to see what it was that he was looking at, but she realized after a moment that he wasn't looking at anything. It was more like he was listening. Or perhaps more accurately, _sensing_.

"Sam?" she whispered, nervously.

There was a long pause and then in only a matter of possibly two seconds, Sam had opened the glove box, taken out Jody's spare gun and was out of the car.

Jody flung open the driver's side door and was beside Sam in an instant, her holstered gun drawn. "What are we doing, Sam?" she asked insistently. "What's going on?"

Without turning to look at her and without slowing his determined pace he replied, "Dean's in trouble."

Jody didn't ask any more questions, just followed beside him.

* * *

It was upon him almost instantly. A dark, hunched thing that smelled of death and decay, it moved like an animal, but had distinctive human-like characteristics. It grabbed him by the throat and arm and threw him down onto the floor with a deep growl. The instant it touched him, he was consumed by terror. Every fear he'd ever had as a child, as an adult, the worst things he could imagine… the worst _thing.._. For a moment, the protective big brother side of him began to fight back, but realizing that Sam wasn't actually there, in immediate danger, the other terrors began to sweep over him again. And then he was being dragged into a hole in the floor of the fireplace. He threw the bag at Jeremy who was reaching for Dean's legs.

"Go!" Dean shouted at him. "GO!"

He hoped Jeremy would listen because it might be their only hope. The thing had him in its arms and it wasn't letting go and he did not have the strength to fight back. And then it was dark.

* * *

Jody kept up right beside Sam as he took the front steps two at a time and burst into the lobby of the hotel.

"Dean? Dean!" he shouted.

Jeremy was running towards them, carrying a bag and looking panic stricken. Marcus was standing beside the fireplace, an even more horrified look on his face than Jeremy.

"He's been taken. I have the remains. We need to-"

"Go! Go! I'll get Dean."

Jeremy paused briefly and looked at Sam, sorrow momentarily replacing the fear, as though he had already lost hope.

"Now! Sam barked. Jody pressed the keys into his hand and Jeremy raced to the door and out into the night.

Sam and Jody bolted towards the fireplace where Marcus stood, frozen in place, his eyes glued to a large hole in the base of the fireplace. He glanced up as Jody and Sam approached and pointed at the hole. "It took him!"

Sam wasted no time in climbing into the hole himself and Jody followed. They climbed down into a cavernous opening where Sam pulled a small flashlight from his jacket. All around them were carved walls of rock, frigid air and dampness. A narrow set of tracks that long ago had guided carts of ore and gold into dark tunnels could be seen stretching on into blackness. The two of them raced into the darkness, looking for any sign at all that they were heading in the right direction and hadn't missed some dark turnoff in their haste.

"Dean!" Sam yelled into the blackness. And then he heard it. Faintly, the cry echoed through the tunnel, "Sam!"

Sam skidded to a halt and froze, listening, gauging the location and distance of the sound. "DEAN!" Sam screamed back and took off, running faster now to the point where Jody could barely keep up. She hoped he didn't push himself to the point of collapse, because while he was moving at a surprising pace, she could tell he was being fueled only by adrenaline.

As they moved deeper into the tunnel, they heard a sound like cars driving through rain. It grew louder and louder and then Sam pointed in the direction of his flashlight beam where the path they were following dropped off on the side. An underground stream full of rushing water splashed along noisily beside them.

"Sam!"

They were close. So close that if the flashlight was pointed in the right direction, they would surely find him. "Dean!" Sam yelled.

"Here..." the voice was weak, but near enough for Sam to pinpoint and locate in the beam of light. Down the embankment at the edge of the rushing stream a hulking, dark figure was dragging his brother closer and closer to the water.

Sam scrambled down the rocks, noticing with alarm that his brother was struggling, but looking completely drained of energy. There was no way he was getting out of that thing's grasp. As he got closer, he also noticed his own building fear. It was escalating to irrational levels. And many of the things brewing in his mind seemed unrelated- the panic room, the trials, ghosts, demons and some things he was beginning to recognize as Shilah's memories, not his own. It was everything all piling up at the same time, making the fear so great it became difficult to breathe. Jody was feeling it too. She wasn't quite as close as Sam, but each step became slower and more hesitant.

Sam took a breath. It was as though he were walking directly towards a blazing inferno. The closer he got, the more debilitating the fear became. But one fear was so much greater than all the others. One fear above the rest allowed him to keep going because stopping would mean that fear would become reality. He narrowed his eyes and focused all of his thoughts on that one fear, visualized it as best he could.

"Sammy, stay back!" Dean growled weakly, clawing at the creatures arms and trying to work up the strength to really put some force into his own attack. He could see Sam's own energy draining and the terror welling up inside his brother just like his own. But he also knew Sam's energy had been drained from the start.

The thing had dragged Dean to the edge of the rushing water now. It glared at Sam, pulling back it's lips to reveal a row of jagged, rotting teeth. Sam wasn't sure if it was growling or smiling.

And then with a bellow, it reared back preparing to throw Dean into the current. And something in Sam snapped.

"NO!" He screamed and lunged at the thing, just as it let go of Dean. The creatures eyes widened in what appeared to be shock. Sam's hands closed around its neck. It let out an ear piercing shriek and evaporated into nothingness. But Sam did not have time for surprise or investigation because he heard his brother's body hit the rocks and saw him being carried off in the current.

Jody watched, horrified as Sam scooped up the flashlight he'd dropped and jumped into the water after his brother. Both of them disappeared from sight.


	15. Chapter 15

He didn't know how long he'd been out, but what he did know was that Sam was there, turning him on his side, hands on his face, patting him roughly one minute and then pushing his hair back gently the next, all the while yelling his name, his voice trembling with desperation.

"Dean? Dean! Come on, man, open your eyes! DEAN!"

It took three tries. Dean just couldn't get his body to do what his mind was telling it to. And finally, it was only Sam's threat of mouth to mouth resuscitation that gave him just enough of a jolt of adrenaline to crack an eyelid and try to take a breath. But to his shock, he found himself completely unable to breathe. Everything happened in an instant, but to Dean, it felt like a long, drawn out series of events. He tried to breath and couldn't. He was gripped by panic and then started choking on water. And then Sam was tipping him over, supporting his head and chest as he struggled to take in air. He was able to draw tiny breaths then as he coughed up more and more water, all the while he could hear Sam, his voice flooded with relief as he held tight to Dean's arm and supported his head, repeating over and over, "Dean, it's ok, I've got you. Oh, thank God… It's ok, it's ok, I'm here. You're all right-"

After a while, Sam lifted him up carefully and pulled him against his chest. They were both soaking wet and shivering. Dean leaned heavily against his brother's shoulder. He wanted to move, but it just wasn't happening. And he couldn't see _anything_. "Sam," he mumbled, head lolling underneath Sam's chin. "...dark.."

"Yeah, I l-lost the f-flashlight." Sam's teeth were chattering.

Ok, that was good. So he probably wasn't blind. He was cold and wet and still catching his breath, but otherwise he was in fair shape. But Sam... Dean took another slow breath in and coughed twice. "...ok?.." he managed to croak.

"Ok? Yeah, yeah. You're ok. You're-" there were tears. Dean was sure of it. Sam pulled him closer, fingers digging into Dean's sleeves.

"N-no," he growled, biting down to keep his own teeth from rattling against each other. He was annoyed that he couldn't form a complete sentence without several breaths and coughs between words and frustrated that he couldn't so much as sit up to check on his little brother who was _crying_. And he was freezing. Damn it, he needed to get up. "Dumbass… mean you… ok?"

Sam paused and then huffed out a laugh and nodded. "Yeah. I'm ok."

And then there was another voice, distant, but coming closer, calling to Sam. Dean could see a faint beam of light reflecting every now and then in the water.

Sam leaned away from Dean and yelled back. "Jody? Jody! Here! We're ok! I've got him!"

"Sam- that... thing...Where..." Dean coughed again and struggled suddenly to sit up.

"Hey, whoa… Dude no. Just stay. That t-thing that took you? It's g-gone. It… it let out this scream and then it just kind of disintegrated as soon as I touched it."

"… touched it? …. dude… gross."

"What was I s-supposed to do? It had you and I d-didn't have a clear shot at it-"

"… would've s-shot it?"

"Hell yes! It had you and-"

"Could've killed y-you..." Dean struggled to speak with the vehemence that he felt, but could barely manage a complete sentence. Jeremy had told him that killing the thing could kill Sam too.

By this time, Jody had caught up to them. She was holstering her gun as she approached and if she hadn't been so terrified, she'd have laughed at their bickering. "Dean?" she dropped to her knees beside him, one hand on his shoulder and one on Sam as she glanced between them, trying to decided who needed more help.

Sam nodded to her, "We're good," he said, his voice weak and hoarse from yelling for his brother. He sat back then and leaned up against the wall of rock, catching his breath.

Dean was grateful for the light. For one, it meant he hadn't lost his sight, and secondly, it allowed him to get a better look at Sam. While just as cold and wet as Dean was, he looked like he'd come through their wild river ride without any serious injuries.

Jody watched him for a second too, unconvinced by his words and then turned to Dean. She helped him out of his soaked over coat and took off her own jacket and wrapped it around him. Then she checked him over for anything more concerning than cuts and bruises. She was so busy tending to Dean and Dean was so busy telling her to stop that neither one noticed Sam's breathing becoming labored.

Sam pressed himself up against the stone wall and clenched his teeth as he tried to steady his breath and focus on reality. The fear was starting to wash over him again, but there was something different this time. The pain was different. Everything was more intense, almost desperate.

Jody and Dean were arguing over whether or not Dean should try to get up just yet, but Sam's groan of pain finally stopped them both cold.

Jody looked over her shoulder at him. "Sam?"

Sam sucked in a gasp of air and crumpled to the ground.

"Sammy? Sam!" Dean immediately found his strength and was on his feet. He hovered over his brother, hands on his shoulders, on his face, checking for wounds, offering comfort. He shrugged quickly out of Jody's jacket and put it over Sam. "Sammy, I'm here, what wrong? What hurts?"

But Sam was unresponsive. He was focused completely on breathing and on what appeared to be intense pain.

Dean swore and took Sam's face in his hands. "SAM!"

Now the panic began to truly set in. They were a long, long way from where they started and way, _way_ too cold.

And just when Dean was starting to lose all hope and accept that they were truly and completely screwed, a small beam of light shone from over head. And then a familiar voice called down to them.

"Jeremy?" Dean whispered in disbelief.

It _was_ Jeremy and he was climbing down a wall of rock from high up above them.

"How-" Jody started, too shocked to finish her sentence.

"You are directly underneath the property where the cabin is," Jeremy called down. "I came through the floor of the woodshed. I was looking for a tool to dig with and I heard a loud sound- like a scream from a wild animal. What was-"

"Sam's in trouble. We need to get him out of here," Dean growled, ignoring the question. He tilted Sam's head up, demanding his attention. "Sam! C'mon, dude, I know you can't give me 100% right now, but can I maybe get 50? Can you stand? We've got a shorter hike than I thought. You can do this."

Sam clutched tightly to the front of Dean's shirt and started to lift himself up.

"That's my boy, c'mon… I only need you to help a little, I'll do the rest." Dean positioned himself under Sam's arm and lifted him to his feet. Jody helped from the other side. They started to move forward slowly. "C'mon, that's it," Dean coaxed. "Warm bath waiting for you back at the cabin. Fireplace, blankets, that's right… we'll get you all warmed up."

A stifled, pained cry was the only response as Dean balanced and lifted his brother up the embankment of rocks. Jeremy met them part way, took off his jacket and placed it over Dean's shoulders. He took over fro Jody on Sam's other side and the four of them made their way to the opening in the woodshed floor.

Jeremy climbed out first, reached down and pulled Sam out as Dean lifted. Sam crumpled to the floor and lay there panting as Dean and Jody climbed out behind him.

Jeremy laid a hand on Sam's back and looked at Dean. "The ghost sickness is preparing to leave his body."

"That sounds like a good thing, but it's not matching what I'm seeing," Dean said, gripping Sam's arm and supporting his head. "Sammy, c'mon..."

"It is not an easy process," Jeremy said, softly. "We need to get him inside where my grandfather can help him. And I need to bury the remains-"

"You haven't done that yet?"

"My grandfather performed a brief ceremony with the remains to help reunite the spirits. It is most likely why the ghost sickness is beginning to leave your brother. But the spirits can be completely reunited until the remains are returned to the sacred ground. A cleansing ceremony will help to release the sickness from your brother's body and guide the spirits back to where they belong."

Dean looked at him, the fear was plain as day on his face and Jody's heart broke to see it. He was too tired and cold to even try to mask it.

Jody reached out and took Dean's arm. "Come on. Let's get you both inside before you freeze."

They slowly made their way to the cabin, Sam leaning on both Dean and Jeremy and Jody running ahead to open the door.

Inside, to Dean's relief, was warm and dry. The fire was going and Nabahe sat looking calm and composed just outside of a sand painting that looked far more elaborate than the one they'd had on the floor earlier.

Sam clutched tightly to Dean's shirt, swallowing a groan and shivering.

"Easy, easy, kiddo. I've got you," Dean soothed softly.

"Who's… got you?" Sam quipped, his voice shaking.

"I'm fine. Don't you worry about-" Dean's sentence was cut short with another bout of coughing. He started to lose his hold on Sam until Jody and Jeremy stepped in from opposite sides.

"Ok, you two," Jody scolded, her voice soft and somewhat mothering. "Enough heroics for one day. Sam- go with Jeremy. Dean, couch. Now."

Dean straightened, or attempted to, as Sam was lead away from him.

"He's all right," Jody whispered as she nudged him toward the couch. "C'mon. You're not going to be of any use to him if you're sick."

"He's cold and all wet-" Dean protested, another bout of coughing cutting off the rest of his words.

"He's right next to the fire. Jeremy's getting him a blanket. They're gonna help him get better." Jody kept her hands on his shoulders as he reluctantly lowered himself to the couch, his eyes never leaving his brother. He watched, his whole body tense as Sam collapsed inside the sand painting and Nabahe stood over him and began to chant.


	16. Chapter 16

As soon as Jeremy had Sam situated in the center of the sand painting, he hurried towards the door with the bag containing the remains. Dean groaned as he shifted his weight on the couch, pressing himself upwards with agonizing slowness in an attempt to go with him, but Jody reached out a gentle hand to his shoulder and pushed him back down.

"He shouldn't g-go out there alone," Dean protested, teeth chattering and his voice still hoarse and strained.

"The creature is gone," Jeremy said, turning to Dean, hand on the door knob. "Sam faced him with what must have been a great ferocity. My grandfather heard the scream from inside the house and knew it had been destroyed. Most people turn away when confronted with their worst fears."

Dean snorted. Not his little brother.

"Stay here," Jeremy said opening the door. "I will do this quickly and the recovery process will begin."

 _You will only slow it down,_ Dean heard the words Jeremy didn't speak as he sank back into the soft pillow beneath his head and turned his eyes towards his brother. He allowed Jody to tuck the blanket tightly around him as Nabahe continued the chanting and Sam continued his labored breathing and choked back cries of pain.

It didn't take long for Dean to feel too far away. He sat up again and dragged the blankets off the couch and on to the floor. Jody started to protest, but then thought better of it. There would be no changing his mind. So instead, she just handed him a pillow once he had himself situated next to the sand painting.

Amidst the stifled moans from Sam, each one breaking Jody's heart just a little more, the room was filled with the soft crackling of the fire, Nabahe's low chanting and Dean's quiet whispers of reassurance. "It's okay, Sammy, I'm right here. You're gonna be ok." The boys were lying on the floor facing each other with maybe three feet of space between them, but Sam didn't seem to be able to focus on Dean over the pain. Jody could see it was taking every ounce of effort Dean had not to reach across the sand and touch him.

There had come a point after quite some time when Sam finally went very still. He had looked at Dean then, his eyes heavy and clouded with exhaustion.

"I'm here... just rest." Dean whispered to him.

His breathing evened out and the pained expression on his face smoothed. A few hours later, Jeremy returned looking completely exhausted and wet from snow and sweat. The remains had been buried, the spirits reunited. Nabahe began to slowly and methodically sweep the sand up into a little beaded pouch. Once he had removed a clear path to Sam, he nodded to Jeremy to offer assistance. Jeremy stood and moved towards Sam, and Dean leapt to his feet, somewhat unsteadily.

Jeremy stood aside and let Dean go to his brother and help him up.

"Hey, Sammy..." Dean's voice trembled as he rubbed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "C'mon, bro, time to get up."

Sam lifted his head and blinked slowly at him a few times before closing his eyes again and dropping his head back to the floor.

"Sammy?" Dean moved his hand up to the back of Sam's neck.

There was such worry in that one quiet word, that Jody felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Jeremy moved to crouch down beside Dean. Dean looked at him questioningly.

"He is all right. He still has much healing to do. The next three or four days will be hard, but he will heal."

Dean only looked more distressed. "Three or four days?"

Jeremy nodded. "Ghost sickness is a dangerous illness. Most people do not survive it. But your brother is very strong. He is safe now." He motioned to Dean to take Sam's arm and the two of them helped Sam stand, move out of the remaining sand and over to the couch.

Jody picked the blanket up off the floor and used it to cover Sam as he collapsed onto the pillow. Sam let out a soft moan and his eye brows pressed together.

"Shh, it's all right, Sam," she whispered, running a hand over his hair. "You just rest."

Sam mumbled something barely discernible, but Jody knew what he wanted.

"Your brother's right here," she whispered as she stepped aside, making room for Dean. She went to find another blanket to try to keep Dean warm, though she figured he'd just use it to put another layer over Sam.

Dean lowered himself wearily to the couch, sitting with his hip pressed up against his brother's side. He put a hand to Sam's chest and spoke soflty to him. "Right here, little brother. Told you I'm not going anywhere. All right?"

Sam let out a quiet almost contented sign.

Jody smiled over her shoulder and Dean chuckled, "Yeah, they tell me you're gonna be high maintenance for a while. But they don't know what a pain in the ass you are to begin with, do they?"

Sam made a quiet noise of protest, but then eased into sleep as Dean shushed him and rubbed his hand over his arm, smiling in relieved amusement.

Jody came back with a blanket which she draped over Dean's shoulders. To her surprise and concern, he clutched at it with a slight shiver and kept it on. She put a hand on his back and leaned in to whisper, "He's gonna be ok."

She stood then and moved into the kitchen with Jeremy, leaving the boys in the dim quiet of the living room.

Nabahe worked for a good forty minutes or so sweeping up the rest of the sand and pouring it into the pouch while Sam dozed restlessly on the couch. Jeremy and Jody talked quietly in the kitchen while Dean sat on the edge of the couch, watching Sam sleep. After a while, he sighed, ran a hand through his brother's hair and stood. He wandered over to the small bar in the corner, poured himself a glass of bourbon and headed out to the porch. The air was crisp and cold, but it looked like the sun might finally come out. The first light of morning was casting a pinkish tint along the snow covered driveway and a pair of red squirrels chased each other up and down a nearby pine tree.

Dean wrapped the blanket tightly around his shoulders and downed a large gulp of the bourbon, knowing it wouldn't be quite enough to settle his nerves. but it might warm him up. Everything was fine, he kept reminding himself. But he could never really calm down when Sam was sick.

Jody watched him through the window for a few moments, then excused herself to go talk to him. She stepped out into the cold and softly closed the door behind her. "Jeremy and I are going to go scatter the sand over the grave."

Dean nodded.

Jody shivered and pulled her coat closer around her body. "Don't stay out here too long. You've gotten enough cold for one day, don't you think?"

Dean cast her a side long glance and took another sip of his drink.

Jody did not miss the redness in his eyes. She laid a hand gently on his arm. "He's ok, Dean. I know you can't stand seeing him hurting, but he's going to be ok."

Dean looked down and didn't answer her. But Jody didn't need an answer. She knew he was just worried and likely blaming himself for something, though she couldn't imagine what, and nothing she could say would change that.

"Nabahe wants to talk to you." Jody said, patting his shoulder and heading inside to properly suit up for a walk in the snowy woods.

Dean finished his drink and didn't go inside until Jeremy and Jody came back out together with the bag of sand. They said nothing as Dean watched the two of them wander off into the woods. He sighed then and headed into the cabin. He passed through the living room where Sam seemed to be sleeping peacefully beside the fireplace.

Nabahe was waiting for him at the kitchen table.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean said as he pulled out a chair and sat down across from the old medicine man.

Nabahe nodded.

"Why did you finally decide to help us?"

"Because you are the Monster Slayers. There was a good chance you would know a way to stop this. Or find a way."

"But we didn't really… do anything."

"Your brother is a man of great courage."

"Yeah," Dean replied in a tone he might use if Nabahe had told him the sky was blue.

Nabahe shrugged then. "Did not think it would be so simple. We had heard that one way to stop it was to face it, but few people can truly face and confront that level of fear. I thought you might possess a potion or a weapon… but your brother was the answer. Your brother's love for you was stronger than any magic you could have conjured."

Dean swallowed and nodded, looking at the ground. That was all well and good, but where did that leave Sam? "What does he need from me? To help him?" Dean asked, his voice rough with emotion.

"Be near. He will recover, but it will not be easy. There will be fever dreams and fear and there will be pain," Nabahe scratched his head, looking perplexed. "But there is something deeper within that has further weakened him. Something I cannot cure. You know of this?"

The trials. Dean just nodded and scrubbed a hand over his face.

Nabahe waited a moment but then accepted that there would be no further explanation. He looked solemnly at Dean. "He carries a great burden. Show him that you honor your relation to him. Only then will he tell you his truth."

"His truth?" Dean asked, curious.

Nabahe looked out towards the living room where Sam lay sleeping on the couch. "He will tell you. When he is ready."

Dean wasn't sure exactly what Nabahe had meant by that, as a Winchester, he was well versed in hidden truths. Did Sam want to stop hunting? Did he regret letting Amelia go? Whatever it was, Dean wasn't ready just then to hear it out loud, so he didn't press the issue. He kept it safely tucked in the back of his mind to be dealt with later.

When Jody returned, there was some discussion about staying or going. Nabahe was ready to return home, but Jody was reluctant to leave the boys.

"Jody, we're fine. We've been through worse."

"Dean, you're exhausted and who knows how Sam's going to be-"

Dean waved her off. "I'm good. I'll take care of him. Don't worry. Take these guys home and I'll call you if we have any problems. Deal?"

Jody bit her lip and looked over Dean's shoulder to where Sam lay sleeping on the couch. Finally, much against her better judgement, she grabbed her coat, gave Dean a quick hug and a threat that he'd better call her if he needed to, and lead the two medicine men out to her truck.

When the nightmares started about an hour later, Dean was beside himself trying to console an inconsolable little brother. The two of them were no strangers to nightmares. When one woke up in the middle of the night, with a gasp or a scream, the other generally kept his reactions subtle and guarded. Little comfort was offered if any, and often they pretended not to even know. It was just one of those things they chose not to talk about. But there were exceptions. There were times when it was just too much to ignore. Times when one would go to the other and offer a drink, a listening ear or even open arms. After Jess's death. After ( _eventually_ after) Dad's death. After Sam's soul was returned to his body.

And now.

It had started quietly, a little tossing and turning, a whimper here and there, but it escalated quickly to full on screaming, to the point where Dean was shaking him and begging him to open his eyes. He was about two seconds from slapping him awake, when Sam finally sat up, sucked in a breath of air and looked at him.

"Dean?" he breathed out, still shaking violently, tears still flowing, a deeply pained expression on his face.

"Hey, yeah… just a bad dream, ok?"

But Sam shook his head. "N-no..." he looked around, nervously, choking back a sob.

"Hey, hey...Yes, it was. A really bad one, sounds like, huh?" Dean pushed his hair back, checking for fever. He was definitely running a temperature, but nothing concerning.

Sam shook his head again, panting, his breath interrupted by the occasional little hiccup. "N-no, Dean, no..."

"Sammy, buddy," Dean guided his chin so he was looking at him. "Hey, c'mon… you're ok, all right? Just bad dreams and you've got a little fever…you're ok."

"Dean…" Sam couldn't even get the words out. He leaned forward, clutching at the blankets and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Ok. C'mere…" Dean got up from where he was crouched beside the couch and sat beside Sam. He wrapped his arms around his trembling brother and pulled the blankets up. "I've got you, ok? I'm here."

Dean felt a momentary tensing during which he though Sam might push him away and insist he was fine, but it was only a second. And then Sam was leaning into him, soaking up any comfort Dean was willing to give out. Tears streaming down his face, shivering and breathing rapidly, Sam curled up tightly to Dean's side and Dean immediately stowed the usual cocky bravado and softened his voice just a bit more.

"You just relax, buddy. Everything's ok now, all right? Just have to heal up from all this."

Sam was able to steal another few minutes of rest. He was pressed up against Dean's side and he didn't even care if Dean might give him crap about this later. The fear, while completely irrational, was overwhelming. Being tucked up under his brother's arm made it feel better, so screw dignity, he thought. But then something inside him began to tense. And just like before, all his muscles began to tighten and knot up. Sam tried to breathe through it. Tried t shift around to get comfortable, but nothing was working and it was getting worse.

"Sammy, what's going on, bud?"

Sam didn't answer. Dean pushed him gently off his shoulder and got down in front of him, but Sam's eyes were clenched shut.

"Hey, are you hurting?" Dean remembered Nabahe had mentioned pain. He had hoped they might have just gotten away with only nightmares and fever.

"Oh, God… yeah..." Sam managed between gulps of air.

"Ok, ok… where? Just all of a sudden? Like before?" Dean had Sam's face in both hands, gingerly smoothing his hair back and thumbing away tears.

Sam swallowed hard and moaned. "Y-yeah, I guess… but… worse. 's like a… full-body...leg cramp..."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Son of a bitch… All right. Try to relax. We're gonna try what we did before, but take it slow, ok?"

Sam was sitting up so Dean moved behind the couch and started to very gently press his fingers into the back of Sam's neck.

"We're gonna see if we can get you lying down and a little more comfortable. Aw, Sammy..." Dean cringed in sympathy as Sam's fingers dug into the couch cushions and he stifled a cry. "Easy, I think this'll help like it did before. I'm gonna be careful, but you tell me if I hurt you, got it?"

He moved slowly down Sam's neck and onto his shoulders, rubbing gently at first, but slowly going deeper. Sam took careful, deep breaths. "There you go," Dean praised. "Good. We got this."

Slowly, Sam eased himself down to the pillow, but he was still curled around himself, clutching his abdomen with one arm.

Dean reached for Sam's middle. "Here too?"

"Everywhere," Sam said miserably.

"Ok. Don't you worry," Dean said with a confidence that soothed almost as much as the strong hands pressing into aching muscle. "We're gonna have you doin' just fine in no time." He pressed his thumbs deep into Sam's shoulder blades and worked his way down his back.

And while Sam wouldn't have called it "just fine" per se, after about half an hour, he was feeling better.

"You ok for me to go get you some heat for this now?"

Sam groaned. "Mmm… yeah."

Dean patted his arm and got up. "Be right back."

Sam heard Dean rummaging around in the kitchen. He heard the microwave running and moments later, something warm lying across the back of his neck and shoulders.

He still felt the fear coursing through his mind and every part of him felt strained and achy, like he'd horribly overdone a workout. But it felt manageable now, mostly. He looked sleepily up at Dean and almost smiled. Almost.

Dean did smile and ran a hand over Sam's head. "See? Big brother's got this. You're gonna be fine."

Sam just blinked at him and then closed his eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

It was not something he was used to at all, this weakness Sam was showing. It was not that he wasn't expecting it, but it had been a while since Sam had needed him- really needed him. And it had been a while since he'd been in a situation where he could actually allow his softer side to come out. There had been tending of wounds and dealing with fears in Purgatory, but that was with an angel and a vampire who weren't exactly getting along, and it was with the constant push to suck it up and keep going before getting eaten. There was no room for any kind of softness there. He figured that experience had destroyed any bit of tenderness he may have possessed, but he was secretly relieved to see he still had it in him. Even so, at first, he still floundered. He was hesitant and unsure when he would reach over to feel Sam's forehead, fully expecting his hand to be shoved away, but instead he was met with long, slow blinks and a slight sigh of what sounded like relief. And that sound in turn filled him with relief and a tiny glimmer of warmth that had been missing from him for some time like a gaping, empty hole. Something close to what he might call… contentment? When he asked how Sam was feeling, instead of the usual bitch face and "Fine", he got gentle, tired eyes and a sleepy yawn. Not exactly an answer, but not an outright lie. And when he got too far away, there was a soft, worried "Dean?" that pulled him back like a magnet, wanting to offer reassurance. He would wander back to the couch, give Sam's arm a pat and tell him where he was going and that he'd be right back. He was careful not to leave Sam alone for very long. Sam was accepting Dean's help and even asking for it, even if not so much with words. So, the shivers and the muffled sobs and the clinging that happened sometimes when Sam woke up did not phase him. He just held on, whispered encouragements, rubbed shoulders and dried tears without batting an eye. He was rewarded with a visible calming in his little brother. Not completely, but enough to know he was doing something. And something inside him began to heal. All the agony and devastation of Purgatory that had torn him to shreds was finally starting to heal. There were still worries, there were still threats, but in their current situation, this was something he could do. This was a way he could help. And ultimately, this was _Sam._ Comforting, protecting, taking care of Sam was in his blood. And not since Sam had been a child had he been so freely allowed to do it.

Towards the end of the second day, Sam began to stir on the couch. His eyes opened a bit and searched the room for just a second before landing on Dean.

"Hey, there, Sleeping Beauty," Dean mumbled, turning his head a bit to make sure this was just the usual stirring and not any kind of distress. Over the two days, many of the times Sam had awakened had been from pain or terror, or in the beginning, both.

Sam lifted his head a couple inches off the pillow, only to flop back down again. "...time is it?..."

"About 5:30" Dean was draped sideways in a nearby armchair flipping through channels on the television

Sam looked worriedly at him, like Dean hadn't answered his whole question.

"P.M. Day two, little brother. You should be nearly on the mend now." Dean swung his legs over the arm of the chair and walked over to where Sam was lying.

Sam looked at him, shocked. "Two days? I should get up-"

Dean laid a gentle hand across his back pressing him back down. "Why? We've got nowhere we have to be, nothing we need to kill… We're on break, dude. What you _should_ do is have some water and lie back down."

"Kevin-"

"Can deal for a few days. We're taking a break."

Sam let out a soft whine when a cold glass pressed up against his hand.

"C'mon," Dean whispered, nudging him to sit up a bit and then easing in beside him to support him enough to drink. "Just a little, then you can rest some more."

Sam groaned as he took the glass from Dean and took a sip. "Can't keep lying around like this..."

Dean chuckled. "Yes you can. C'mon. You're still healing." Dean took note of the fact that Sam was supporting almost none of his own weight, leaning fully into Dean's shoulder.

"How long… was I out?"

"On and off. Almost through day two, bro. We just talked about this. Still another day to go. But you're doing a lot better."

Sam didn't respond and Dean could sense him sulking, even though he couldn't see his face from where he was. He nudged the glass towards Sam's face again. "Little more… you've been out for hours. Don't want you getting dehydrated. That'll just make you feel worse, dude."

Sam grudgingly took another drink. Dean took the glass then and set it on the side table. He pulled the pillow out from behind him and set it in his lap, tapping it so Sam knew to lie down. This had become part of the recovery routine, and Sam did so without protest as Dean flipped the channel to an old western that Sam didn't recognize. Dean groaned when it cut to advertisements, but he'd already set the remote down and was working on Sam's shoulders. He was pressing both thumbs deep into Sam's shoulder blades, and Sam prayed silently that he would just tolerate the commercials and not stop what he was doing to flip channels. They had found that a bit of deep tissue massage every few hours seemed to keep the worst of the pain at bay and allowed Sam to get some much needed sleep. It occurred to Sam that this whole situation probably would have been a bit awkward at first had the pain not been so horrible that he'd have tolerated just about anything to ease it. Now the pain was borderline manageable, but Sam didn't quite feel the need yet to tell Dean he could handle it.

"You still gonna do this for me after 'm better?" Sam mumbled, on the verge of sleep again.

Dean smacked his head. "No!"

"Ow!"

"And I'm not gonna do it now if you make smart ass remarks," he said distractedly, watching a commercial that had come on the television with some scantily clad ladies advertising beer.

Sam let out a sleepy chuckle and sank deeper into the pillow.

"I'm serious about taking a break, Sam." Dean said, working the kinks out of Sam's neck.

Sam didn't answer. It was almost embarrassing how much he was starting to enjoy this.

"Sam?" Dean stopped.

"Hmm? Wha? A break? Yeah… ok..."

Dean sighed and shook his head in amusement, thumbs working again and finding a tight spot that made Sam flinch. "Easy… got a nasty spot there…. breathe, Sammy," he said as he felt Sam stiffen. "Yeah, but I mean a real break. Like even after you're good, we hole up here for a couple days and soak this place up. There's a stocked bar, there's food like you wouldn't believe in the fridge. Do you know there is a hot tub on the front porch? I haven't even opened it." he sounded put out.

"Whass stopping you?" Sam mumbled, half awake.

"Oh, I don't know. The ghost of two pissed off Native Americans? A town full of mysterious deaths? Some over-grown pain in the ass little brother who needs constant attention?"

Sam let out an annoyed whine, but couldn't manage much else.

"Shh! Quiet! The shows back on."

The mention of food in the fridge had Sam's stomach growling, but he was pretty sure his brother was quite engrossed in the western. He'd distinctly hear the sound of a monkey.

"Any chance somebody is hungry?" Dean asked, obliterating any thoughts Sam had regarding the focus his brother's attention. It was, as always, on him.

"I could eat," Sam said, trying not to sound too eager.

His brother made no such attempt. "Yeah? Awesome! There is a mac and cheese casserole in there that has been calling my name." He slid out from under Sam and covered him up with a blanket. He paused a moment then. "I think I'll throw another log on the fire first, what do you think?"

I think you felt me shiver, Sam thought, almost rolling his eyes. Before he could say anything, Dean was out of his line of sight and headed towards the front porch. Sam heard the door open and felt the cold air slicing into the room. He was cold to begin with, but the wind from outside was deadly. He cringed slightly and burrowed beneath the blanket. He listened carefully to Dean shuffling around on the porch, stacking wood in his arms and then the cold announcing his return. The door closed, Dean stomped the snow off of his boots and crossed in front of Sam to load the logs into the fireplace.

He felt like he should help, not just lay there like a helpless invalid, but...

"You doin' ok?" Dean's voice was soft, concerned.

"Mmhmm..." was all he could manage.

"All right. I'm gonna go heat up some food. Maybe make you a salad or something to go with it." He turned off the TV and was off to the kitchen. Sam could hear him humming to himself as he got the oven started, took something out of the fridge and started gathering plates and silverware. He listened as Dean washed and chopped vegetables and seemed to happily take on the role of Julia Child. He was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Sam tried to take comfort in that. If Dean was feeling ok about things, then things must be fine. But he was a room away. The fear started small as it always did. But Dean hadn't been away from him for more than about 3 or 4 minutes at a time, at least while he was awake. He tired to count breaths, then minutes. Tried to focus on the fact that he was getting better. This shouldn't be an issue. But it was too long this time. Dean was gone for too long. And it was the bathtub scene all over again. It was like something had grabbed hold of him and just filled him with dread. Damn it! Sam cursed to himself, biting his lip. He was not giving into this fear again. He wouldn't! Maybe if he could just sit up enough to see Dean… Slowly and carefully he pushed himself up on his elbows and grasped at the arm of the couch. His breath quickened and he groaned at the sudden head rush and twinge in his shoulders. This immediately set off Big Brother Radar.

Two hands were suddenly supporting him and guiding him up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa- what'sa matter, you still hurtin'? Where we headed, kiddo?"

Sam looked guiltily into the worried green eyes.

Dean got down in front of him, took one look at his face and registered what was wrong. "You worried I was gone?"

Sam just looked at him, not trusting his voice to answer.

Dean swore under his breath. "That's not gonna happen, ok? Sorry, Sammy. I kind of forgot. I'm right here, ok? I'm not going anywhere." Dean's voice was quiet and reassuring.

Sam took a deep breath and focused on Dean's words.

"I promise. And don't be beating yourself up about this," Dean scolded, seeing the shame on Sam's face. "You're recovering from _ghost sickness_ , Sam. This was happening about every hour on day one and today it's only been what- twice? It's getting better. This one was my fault- I shouldn't have stayed out of the room for so long-"

But Sam was shaking his head and staring at the floor. "Dean, this is _ridiculous_. How much longer-"

"One more day, dude. Just one more day." Dean hoped that was the truth. "Just take it slow, all right? You got this."

Sam swallowed and composed himself, finally raising his head, but not quite meeting Dean's eyes.

"See?" Dean brightened. "You bounce right back now. You're definitely improving. I know it's frustrating, but it'll be better tomorrow, ok?"

Sam looked doubtfully at him.

"C'mon, it will be." Dean patted his knee and stood. "Give me 5 seconds."

He disappeared into the kitchen and came back carrying a knife, a cutting board and a bowl full of salad with a whole green pepper in it. "I just had this one last thing to cut up, but I can do it in here," he said, setting everything down on the coffee table.

"Dean," Sam rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"This!" Sam motioned with his hand. "This is stupid. I should be able to-"

"Hey," Dean pointed at Sam with the tip of the knife. "This makes you feel better. So this is what we're doing."

And so they did. Sam laid back on the couch, huddled under the blanket and watched as his brother prepared part of dinner and listened to him tell stories of some of the crazy places they'd had to prepare food during their childhood.

"Remember when you tried to roast marshmallows in front of the heating vents in that crappy little motel?" Dean asked a huge grin spreading across his face. He handed Sam a bowl of salad and a fork then stood, held up one finger and jogged into the kitchen. He returned seconds later with salad dressing.

Sam sat up, keeping the blanket pulled up as far as he could. "What? No. How old was I?" he asked, opening the dressing and pouring some on his salad.

"Uhh… probably about 5. You sat there in front of the heater with your little marshmallows and this stick you found outside. It was so sad. You were eating them anyway. I don't know if you were just pretending they were cooked or what-"

"Wait a minute- was this the time you built that fire in the bathtub?"

Dean burst out laughing around a mouthful of lettuce that he hadn't appeared to be enjoying and nodded his head. "I should have just left it alone, but it was devastating. I couldn't let it go on!"

"I remember this now!"

"There was that… window right above the tub….I- I opened it… to-to let the smoke out-" Dean choked out between laughs.

"Yeah, but you set the shower curtain on fire." Sam grinned. It felt good to hear his brother's laugh again. And now he was laughing so hard he was wiping away tears and Sam couldn't help but laugh right along with him.

"And then… and then you were screaming and trying to put it out with that… that little dixie cup… you kept filling it up with water and throwing it."

"Right, yeah," Sam was nodding, getting a little worried that Dean might choke. "And then Dad called."

Dean was rolling on the floor now.

"And by that time," Sam continued I think you'd figured out that you could just turn the shower head on and spray everything down, right?"

Dean nodded, unable to speak.

"But I don't really remember what happened then..."

Dean held up a hand indicating that he needed a minute to compose himself. Finally, he caught his breath, finished chewing and continued the story. "Well, I had to have you pick up the phone because I was spraying the shower curtain before the fire spread to the wall, but you were in hysterics so I told you to tell dad there were snakes in the walls and we were going to Bobby's."

Sam threw his head back and laughed at that. " _Snakes in the walls_?"

"It was the worst non-monster thing I could think of. And you know, that whole time, not ONE damned smoke alarm went off in that dump. Anyway, then we called Bobby and told him what happened. He wasn't that far away. Dad should have dropped us there in the first place. He said we were idjits and came to get us. You started crying again when he got there. I think you thought we were in some deep crap," Dean huffed a bit of a laugh. "I kind of thought we were, too."

"Yeah," Sam said a bit wistfully, remembering this part. "But… it was Bobby."

Dean nodded, stabbing a piece of cucumber with his fork. He made a face and set the bowl down on the coffee table, clearly not planning on forcing down any more of the offending vegetables. "He picked you up and hugged you told you it was ok and then you stopped crying."

Sam sighed.

Dean grinned wickedly. "Then he asked you if you wanted to go make s'mores in his fireplace and you started bawling again."

"What? I remember we did that but I thought it was great!"

"Well, yeah, but not at first. It took an hour. An _hour_ , Sam. You were a mess. But Bobby was insistent that we get you feeling safe around fire again. Immediately. And he made sure to tell you how stupid I was to build a fire in the bathtub." Dean said the last part with an affectionate annoyance. Bobby could tell you that you were an idiot without making you really feel like one.

"You know," Sam said, "looking back, I'm not sure if I was afraid of the fire or of Dad."

Dean glanced knowingly at him, but didn't say anything. Bobby had been really great that day. Especially with Sam. Dean remembered preparing himself for some serious punishment and also preparing to make sure Sam didn't get caught in the crossfire. But Bobby had come in and scooped up a crying, shaking Sam, tousled his hair and cooed in his ear, "Whassa matter, Sammy Boy? Is your brother a dumbass?"

And Sam had giggled though his sobs. Dean had rolled his eyes, and Bobby gave him a heavy sigh and a pat on the head. "Dean," he'd groaned. "Let's take a look at the damage, boys." Bobby had said, motioning for Dean to lead the way. Sam tensed up then. They went into the bathroom and Bobby took off his hat and scratched his head. Dean swallowed and stood waiting. Sam leaned back a bit and stared at him with those eyes.

"So," Bobby said, looking around, suspiciously. "How long before you got the smoke alarms to stop going off?"

Dean shook his head. "They never went off in the first place."

"What?" Bobby asked incredulous. Then he shook his head. "You shoulda let this place burn to the ground. This is no place to leave a couple a kids..." Bobby looked like he was starting to get mad and Sam let out a little nervous hiccup. Bobby took a breath and patted Sam's back. "Let's get you out of here."

Once he'd seen that Dean wasn't in danger of being murdered for almost burning down a building, Sam had wrapped his arms around Bobby and tucked his head under his chin. Dean remembered seeing something melt in the old hunter's face and he'd held Sam a little tighter. Sam had that effect on people.

Sam had been clingy and stayed curled up in his lap most of the evening and Bobby had just held him while he talked to both boys about fire safety. Sam had finally gotten excited about holding the marshmallow stick over the fire and even laughed when it caught fire. He'd been so gooey and sticky by the end of that night, they'd had to give him a bath before bed. Dean remembered sitting by the tub and washing Sam's face while Bobby went to get fresh towels out of the dryer. After Bobby had left, Sam had leaned over the side of the tub and looked at Dean with those huge, watery eyes. His lower lip had quivered just slightly as he whispered to Dean, "We won't tell Dad, right?"

"No, Sammy. We won't tell Dad." Dean had said and scruffed his hair. He'd been rewarded with a dimpled grin and everything turned out ok that night.

Dean smiled at the fond memory.

"What?" Sam asked seeing Dean's distant look.

Dean blinked. "Nothing. Just rememberin' what a baby you were."

Sam threw a carrot at him.

Dean stood up rubbed his stomach. "Ok, time for some real food. You doin' ok? Still hungry?"

Sam set his salad bowl down and nodded. "A little."

"Good. I'll be just a minute, ok?"

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam groaned.

They ate macaroni and cheese in front of the fire and made a toast to Bobby, although Dean would only let Sam have water, not beer. Sam made it through almost half of a bowl of the mac and cheese before his eyelids began to droop. Dean rescued the bowl from his hands and carried everything out to the kitchen. When he returned, Sam was still sitting up, but his head was lolling over on the back of the sofa and his eyes were closed. Dean plopped down beside him and flipped on the TV again. He put the pillow back in his lap and patted it, loudly enough for Sam to open his eyes and look over.

There was just a brief hesitation, but then he leaned sideways and flopped down across Dean's lap, eyes closed, face sinking into the pillow and sighing contentedly as strong hands worked their magic into his neck and shoulders, which suddenly seemed to have stopped hurting. But... maybe he'd wait and tell Dean tomorrow. Just in case.


	18. Chapter 18

Much to Dean's relief, his promise held true and the third day was much easier. Sam's pain had lessened considerably and his nerves had settled. He was still exhausted, but the fact that he was more himself made it easier for both of them to relax. Sam was frustrated about it at first, not being able to jump back up and go right back to work, but Dean reminded him that while the weather seemed to have let up, getting the car back on the roads right now was probably not the best idea. So the two of them spent most of the day enjoying the food in the well stocked kitchen and watching DVDs while the fire crackled in the fireplace and a very light snow fell outside. Sam watched with veiled amusement as Dean made trip after trip into the kitchen bringing out things he found in the fridge and pantry, presented beautifully on a tray or platter. There were cheeses and veggies, olives, little toasts and fancy mustards, jams and pastries and there seemed to be no end in sight. They ate all day. By evening, even Dean had had enough.

"I was going to grill burgers," Dean groaned, slumped over the arm of the sofa.

"Please don't," Sam laughed as he huddled under his blanket.

"We didn't even make it to the desserts," Dean said, lifting his head just enough to glance over at Sam.

Sam just closed his eyes and sank deeper into the pillows as Dean lazily flipped through channels to find something decent on TV.

On the fourth day, Sam was up and about. A snow plow service had arrived to clear the driveway. The roads had been cleared too, and taking the Imapala back home was probably safe at this point, but they had both decided that one more day wouldn't hurt.

Dean was coming out of the bathroom wearing a robe and carrying a towel when he nearly bumped into Sam coming out of the kitchen. Both of them were making a beeline straight for the front porch.

Sam tilted his head a bit at Dean. "What are you doing?"

Dean grinned. "Hot tub!" he said eagerly, but his grin quickly faded as he noted what was in Sam's hands. "What are _you_ doing?"

"There's a whole bunch of outdoor winter gear in that closet. Skis, snowshoes… thought I'd get a little exercise."

Dean looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language. "Dude. You just got over _ghost_ _sickness_. You're gonna go running around out in the cold now?"

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed past Dean to the couch where he set the snowshoes down and started putting on a coat. He'd been expecting this reaction from his brother and he knew it came from a place of concern, but he was just so tired of being cooped up. He turned The Eyes on Dean as he started pulling on a pair of gloves. "Look I just need to get out for a bit. I've been lying around for days and I want to move."

Dean studied him as he pulled the gloves over his hands. He figured that was mostly true, but he could tell there was more. It didn't take him long to figure it out from the look on Sam's face. He was going to the grave to pay his respects. Everything in Dean wanted to fight him on this. It was too soon, it was too far, it was too cold… "Sam," he started with a worried tone. But Sam was looking at him with that face. The one that was begging, pleading to just let it go. The one that would turn stubborn and just do it anyway if Dean got too up in his business. And so finally, Dean's shoulders sagged in resignation and he let out a heavy sigh. "Just… don't over do it, all right?"

Sam nodded, his eyes turning grateful and eager now to get out before Dean changed his tune. "I won't."

"You're sill recovering."

"I know." Sam picked up the snowshoes.

"Wear a hat!"

"In my pocket," Sam said as he reached for the door.

"It goes on your head!"

Sam shot him a look as he stepped out onto the porch.

"Sam-"

Bitchface.

"Cell phone?"

Sam pulled it out of his pocket and held it up.

Dean sighed again. "Just be careful."

Sam's face softened. "I promise."

And Dean watched as he strapped on the shoes and headed off into the woods. So much for relaxing. Dean looked longingly at the hot tub, but knew he wouldn't get in until Sam was back. He didn't want to have to perform any rescue operations in the cold while soaking wet.

He was sitting on the couch, still in the robe, watching TV about an hour later when the phone rang.

"Sam?" he could not keep the raw fear out of his voice.

"Hey, just wanted to tell you to get in the tub. I'm heading back."

"Huh?"

"You're sitting in the house aren't you?"

"What?"

"Or you could come join me out here, it's beautiful. There's another pair of snow shoes in the closet."

Dean was suddenly indignant and more than a little pissed off that Sam had known he hadn't dared get in the hot tub. "For your information, Mr. Winter Olympics, I am pruning up as we speak. I'm not getting out of the hot tub to freeze my ass off in the snow."

Sam laughed. "Uh huh. Well, just thought I'd give you the chance to get outside before I'm all the way back to the house if-"

"I'm good." Dean growled.

When they hung up, Dean grabbed a couple beers from the fridge, wandered out to the porch and opened the tub. The steam rose up and enveloped him and, casting a quick glance out to the woods, he took off his robe, stepped into the water and sank into bliss.

About twenty minutes later, he heard Sam's snowshoe crunching through the woods. There was a pause by the door as Sam removed the gear. Then the door opened and in staggered a tired looking, out of breath little brother.

Dean eyed him nervously. "How was it?"

"Probably a bit much for the first time out in a few days," Sam admitted, panting and leaning heavily on the back of a nearby chair. He held up a hand as Dean sat up in the tub, reaching for his robe. "I'm fine. Just cold. Need a rest."

Dean settled back again, still watching him. "Dude, you're shivering. Why don't you get in?" Dean reached over and held up the second unopened beer. "Warm up a bit and take it easy for a while?"

Sam considered it a moment. "You're gonna let me have beer now?"

Without breaking his gaze or changing his expression, Dean suddenly remembered that he'd thought better of Sam having alcohol just yesterday. "Water first. Then yes."

Sam grinned and shook his head. He took a few deep, steadying breaths and straightened. "It does look pretty warm in there..."

Dean gave him a grin and waved the beer. "It's awesome."

"Yeah, I guess I could use-"Sam stopped suddenly and his expression turned suspicious. "Wait a minute," he said as he scrunched up his nose. "Are you _naked_ in there?"

Dean looked taken aback. "What? No!" Then he narrowed his eyes, exasperated, and gave Sam his own version of a bitchface. "Don't be an idiot. Just get in. Go shower off first, though," he said pointing his finger. "I'm not sitting in here with you all sweaty and gross. There's another robe hanging in the bathroom."

Sam went inside and peeled off all his wet clothes and headed for the shower. He rinsed off, threw on a clean pair of boxer shorts and the soft white robe that was hanging on the back of the door, grabbed a towel and headed out to the porch. And when he sank into the hot, bubbling water and took his first sip of beer, he thought perhaps he'd died in the woods and gone to heaven.

"Huh? Right?" Dean asked with a grin, noticing Sam's blissed out expression.

Sam opened one eye just a crack and looked over at his brother. "Yeah, this is pretty nice."

Dean settled back and took a swig of beer. "I'm thinking we could get one of these for the bunker."

"Hmmm…" Sam replied, floating in a somewhat semi-conscious state.

Dean's cell phone buzzed. Both boys opened their eyes and looked at each other in annoyance for a brief moment before Dean picked it up.

"Oh, it's Jody, " Dean said hitting the answer button. "Probably wondering how you're doing- Jody, hey! Sam's fine, he's soaking in-"

"Dean?" Jody's voice was frantic. "You have to get out of the house. NOW."


End file.
